


call me a friend

by gryffsirius



Series: and how mighty it can be [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: CanEm - Freeform, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hogwarts Era, M/M, MWPP, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Second year, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Young James Potter, Young Peter Pettigrew - Freeform, Young Remus Lupin, Young Sirius Black, eventually, it's slow burn, jily, lol, mostly - Freeform, part two of a series, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-01-24 00:39:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 61,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18560398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffsirius/pseuds/gryffsirius
Summary: As he rotates, his eye catches on a familiar head of tawny curls and he shouts, “REMUS!”Miraculously, Remus hears his name over the racket on the platform, grinning as soon as he sees James. “Hey! How was your summer, you absolute dickhead?” he replies in a raised voice, making his way towards James against the flow of foot traffic.“Dickhead? Excuse me, I –”“You’re excused,” Sirius' voice says from a window on the train. He pokes his head and about half of his torso out, looking like he somehow managed to go the whole summer without his mother forcing him to get a haircut, and James is concerned that he’s going to fall out of the window. “Hi.”“God, Sirius, thanks a lot, I was going to say there’s no excuse for you,” Peter interrupts from behind Sirius, shoving him to the side so that he can peer out the window as well. “Always fucking stealing my punchlines, aren’t you? And butchering them, too, I might add.”-It's 1972, and the Marauders are back for another year at Hogwarts. Part two of 'and how mighty it can be' begins, and our story continues.





	1. in which peter is an expert in genetics

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is part TWO of the mammoth story i’ve been working on for Literally over a year now. i’m doing my best and i’ll be uploading a new chapter once a week. ish. if you’ve read any of my work in the past i hope you forgive my inconsistencies in writing schedules but im trying to be more consistent this time.
> 
> i’m basically trying to make this series as canon as possible, just trying to fill in the gaps that jkr didn’t develop. if you’ve read thrice defied (one of my other pieces) the characters have the same development because i was working on both at the same time. this is part two in a series going from 1971-1981. i really hope you enjoy!!
> 
> the first part of this series is linked in the tags. it's called 'and how mighty it can be', just like the whole series is. i would very much appreciate if you checked it out! it's helpful to my ego as well as being generally helpful in making sense of the inside jokes and ongoing character development if you, like with any book series, begin at the beginning.
> 
> if you have any questions or comments, please let me know! kudos and comments are very much appreciated and they make me feel good :) you can also reach me on my twitter @gryffsirius, my instagram @emmakmarie, and my tumblr @siriusorioff. i don't know how to include links in this description, but that's all my information. enjoy!! thanks for stopping by!!
> 
> this series is dedicated to jamie, who made all of this possible and encourages and supports me every day, even when i’m struggling. i love you 💖

James Potter arrives on Platform 9 ¾ on the first of September, 1972 with messier hair, newer glasses, and considerably longer legs than he had when he came off the Hogwarts Express two months ago. It’s 10:43 and James is moving quickly, weaving between bodies and luggage and owls and billowing smoke, ducking underneath the arm of someone he vaguely recognized from the Gryffindor Quidditch team in an attempt to make it closer to the train.

“James, slow down!” he hears his mother call from several yards behind him and he turns to look back at her.

As he rotates, his eye catches on a familiar head of tawny curls and he shouts, “REMUS!”

Miraculously, Remus hears his name over the racket on the platform, grinning as soon as he sees James. “Hey! How was your summer, you absolute dickhead?” he replies in a raised voice, making his way towards James against the flow of foot traffic.

“ _Dickhead_? Excuse me, I –”

“You’re excused,” Sirius' voice says from a window on the train. He pokes his head and about half of his torso out, looking like he somehow managed to go the whole summer without his mother forcing him to get a haircut, and James is concerned that he’s going to fall out of the window. “Hi.”

“God, Sirius, thanks a lot, I was going to say _there’s no excuse for you_ ,” Peter interrupts from behind Sirius, shoving him to the side so that he can peer out the window as well. “Always fucking stealing my punchlines, aren’t you? And butchering them, too, I might add.”

Remus' eyebrows scrunch up a little in contemplation. “How long have you two been on the train?”

“I got here like ten minutes ago. You should try it, no one’s on the platform at half ten, I think it’s part of wizarding genetics to be barely on time, so I got the prime compartment for us,” Peter explains.

“What makes that a prime compartment?” Remus asks. “Aren’t they all the same?”

“Oh, you fool, Remus. You poor, innocent fool.”

“Thanks, Pete.”

“It’s a prime compartment,” Peter explains, his voice full of barely contained enthusiasm that seems to be leading to a conclusion that’s far more ordinary than his reaction entails, “because it’s near the front of the second car, which is where they keep the cupboard with all the sweets in it. The trolley lady told me. Her name’s Evelyn. Anyway, we’ll get first pick when she comes along the hall.”

“I brought snacks,” Sirius interjects. “We don’t need sweets, my mum packed us like, a three course meal.” Everyone ignores him.

“Wait, Pete, back to the time issue. Good job on the compartment, but look, Remus and I are here well before the train is supposed to leave, and you’re a wizard too, why are you acting like it’s not in _your_ genetics to be barely on time as well? Whatever those are.”

“I forgot, you’re an idiot pureblood, you don’t know what science is. Well, James, I’ll elaborate –” Peter begins, then pauses to pull himself back inside the compartment, leaving Sirius hanging out of the window. In response to James and Remus' confused expressions, Sirius just shrugs.

“– with this handy chart!” Peter continues, reappearing with a hastily drawn Punnett square on a scrap of parchment. “Time for a basic lesson in genetics with your host, Peter Pettigrew!”

Remus just looks at Peter for a moment and then, without speaking, walks away.

“Remus, come on, I’m trying to teach something important here!”

James snorts in laughter. “We’re not in school until tomorrow, mate.”

“Is he – is he really walking completely away? I thought he was just making a point,” Sirius says, watching Remus head off in a different direction.

“He left his trunk here, so I assume he’s coming back,” James says, picking up the handle and unsuccessfully attempting to drag it towards the open luggage storage compartment on the side of the train. “Are you two just going to watch me try to move _two_ trunks?”

“Yeah, we already moved our own, so this is just entertainment at this point,” Sirius replies.

“I can’t believe he didn’t want to see my Punnett square,” Peter says in a voice of mock sadness from inside the compartment.

With the help of a passing parent, James manages to shove the trunks onto the train and then heads back to the last place he saw his parents to give them a quick hug goodbye. He races back to the train, bounding up the stairs immediately afterwards and joining his friends in the compartment. To his complete surprise, Remus has already rejoined Sirius and Peter, sitting between the window and Sirius and looking up in interest as James enters.

James stares at Remus for a moment before saying, “When – when did you get back?”

“I don’t know, like two minutes ago?”

“Why didn’t you take your trunk?”

Remus is fighting a smile when he replies, “I don’t know, you seemed pretty busy with it. Also, I initially walked away for comedic effect, and then I realized I had nowhere to go, so I came back here.”

The train whistle blows as James enters the compartment and sits down, collapsing with a dramatic sigh in the seat next to Peter.

“We’re doing it, aren’t we?” James asks no one in particular, head tilted back so that he’s looking at the ceiling of the compartment. He’s never noticed the patterned carpeting on it before, but now he’s slightly mesmerized.

“Doing what?” Sirius asks, digging through a bag at his feet that looks far too small for him to fit the entire length of his arm inside of it, yet he somehow is.

“Going back to school! It’s exciting! We aren’t first years anymore, it’s thrilling to not be at the bottom of the food chain,” James replies. The clock chimes on the platform and the train starts to chug, jerking into movement that knocks Peter forward out of his seat, falling into Sirius and his bag.

“Ow! Fuck, Sirius, you have the hardest skull I’ve ever encountered in my life.”

“Hey, look, Pete, if you had buckled your seatbelt, you wouldn’t have encountered my skull at all, so I’d shut up, if I were you.”

“Sirius, we don’t need to physically knock into you to know that you’re thick-headed,” Remus quips. “That becomes clear every time you open your mouth.” Sirius pauses for a moment, then moves swiftly and whacks Remus with his bag. “Merlin’s steaming pile of shit, what’s _in_ that!”

“I already _told_ you, but no one _listened_ to me! Currently it holds a three course meal that my mum had made for us to have for lunch, but once we empty it and eat the contents, I’m gonna fill it with all the Galleons you’ll owe me for your _fucking swearing_!”

“You can’t make me pay you for swearing when you just did it too!”

Sirius throws his hands in the air dramatically, accidentally losing his grip on his bag and sending it flying across the compartment. He doesn’t seem to notice. James catches it, mildly surprised at its heft. “I did it to make a point.”

Remus bursts out laughing at that, his words distorted by his giggling as he replies, “You’re such a liar! You did _not_ , and you know it!”

After a few more minutes of bickering, the bag is emptied and the surprisingly detailed picnic spread is unfurled on the floor of the compartment. Peter nearly ends up with a slice of cake in his hair, but he dodges Sirius' throw and it splatters against the wall in an extremely satisfying manner just as the compartment door slides open.

“Okay,” comes a voice from the door, and James looks up to see Mary MacDonald making a face that give her the general appearance of wanting to be anywhere else in the world, eyebrows raised and clutching a small scroll. She continues, “I’m not even going to ask. Remus, I came in on the front of the train today and one of the conductors asked me to give this to you.”

Remus huffs a laugh at this particular decision of the train staff, saying, “Uh, thanks, Mary. Why you?”

Mary shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe they were trying to keep an eye out for… second year Gryffindors or something. Someone who might actually know you, I guess.”

“That plan seems faulty,” Peter comments in a stage whisper. The slice of cake drips slowly off the wall behind him. Sirius hasn’t taken his eyes off it yet.

“Look, I didn’t ask,” Mary says, reaching out with the scroll and holding her arm out until Remus reluctantly stands up to take it. “I was just told to give this to you.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Remus rolls the tube of parchment between his fingers before finally deciding to ask, “So, how was your summer?”

Her mission accomplished, Mary launches into an animated description of her summer and the holiday her family went on to Italy. James can see that Remus is barely managing to disguise the expression of regret at asking fighting to make its way onto his face; he can tell that Peter has noticed it too and is using his genuine interest in what Mary’s talking about to ask more questions and force Remus to feign politeness for even longer. Eventually, Dorcas Meadowes shows up and after a quick greeting, drags Mary away. James can hear her asking what was taking so long as they walk back to their compartment.

“What _was_ taking so long?” Sirius asks, watching the last blob of cake fall off the wall and finally directing his attention back to his friends.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Remus replies sarcastically, staring at Peter. “I really have no idea.”

Peter shrugs. “I really was interested.”

“It _took_ so long, lads, because we are the only boys in the year, of course she wants to hang around for as long as she can,” James says confidently.

“There’s – there’s three other Houses, James.”

“So? Sirius, why on Earth would the existence of three other Houses make my statement any less accurate?”

“I can’t tell if you’re being genuine or not right now.”

“Let’s change the subject!” Peter interjects. “Anything to stop James from being an absolute idiot.”

“I am _not_ being an idiot, girls being interested in us is a perfectly valid reason for them to be lingering around here for far longer than necessary!”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we’re the only fucking boys in the _year_.”

James waves a hand through the air carelessly. “Semantics.”

Sirius takes this opportunity to poke Remus, still sitting on the floor next to him, with a fork from the picnic setup. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. What’s going on?”

“What’s the note say?”

“Oh.” Remus frowns as he looks down at the little scroll in his hand. “I haven’t even opened it yet.”

“It’s a love note,” James cuts in, voice getting slightly louder with excitement that he can continue with his joke. “Mary just wanted to give it to you because she _loves_ you, Remus, she wants to be your _girlfriend_.”

“Come on, James, don’t be weird,” Remus replies as he unfurls the scroll. He scans it for a moment, then says, “It’s from Madam Pomfrey. It just says she wants me to come see her tomorrow.”

“Oh,” James says. He pauses, then continues, “Why?”

“Shut up, James,” Sirius says abruptly, and James turns to give him a bewildered look. “You don’t ask people what they need to see a Healer about, that’s rude.”

“Oh, I forgot, you’re Mr. Etiquette.”

“I’m not – I’m just trying to be respectful of Remus' privacy!”

“That’s rich, we broke into a teacher’s office last year, and you want to talk about privacy?”

“Boys, boys, settle down,” Remus says mildly, but James feels slightly guilty for asking for details. There’s something about Remus' expression that tells James he doesn’t really want to talk about… whatever this is, and that he’s probably going to shrug it off like it’s nothing. “I have to see Madam Pomfrey because… I have… asthma.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. “Well, that was anticlimactic,” Peter says, and the momentary tension immediately breaks, the conversation dissolving into laughter.


	2. in which sirius has only met four dogs over the course of his life

The worst thing about having a super secretive illness that you can’t reveal any details about to _anyone_ , Remus decides, is having to come up with all the excuses for your absences.

Sure, the consistent lie about having to visit his mother every month is working well enough for now, but Remus doesn’t know what to say when he’s told that Madam Pomfrey wants to see him. The asthma thing was the stupidest lie he’s come up with so far; he knows nothing about asthma or how it works, and it’s not like he’s going to be able to find anything out about it in the distinctly unscientific library of Hogwarts. Fortunately, the issue of having to elaborate about either his fake illness or his real one seems to be easily avoidable, since none of his friends seem to know anything about how the human body actually works.

“I know about genetics,” Peter says after Remus voices something along those lines, in response to Sirius asking if asthma is contagious. They’re off the train at this point, clambering into the horseless carriages and rolling up the hill towards the castle.

James shakes his head. “Okay, I know I don’t know what the fuck you were talking about earlier, with the chart thing, but I do know that has _nothing_ to do with infectious diseases, Pete.”

“Asthma isn’t _infectious_ ,” Remus counters. “You’re not going to catch it if I sneeze on you. It isn’t the flu.”

“Diseases can be passed in other ways besides _sneezing_ , Remus, do you live in the Middle Ages?” Sirius argues. “For example, biting.”

Remus jerks a little at that, frowning. After a moment of thought he realizes that he can probably pass off his strange movement of shock as a jolt from the carriage bouncing along the dirt road. “What? Biting? What makes you say that?”

Sirius shrugs. “I don’t know. Rabies. My mum is always telling me to watch out for strange dogs.”

“Why, because they might have _rabies_?”

“It’s a valid concern, James!”

“How many dogs have you met that actually have rabies? You know what, I’m backing up a little. How many dogs have you even met, Sirius?”

Sirius throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know! At least four! Why am I on trial? Remus still hasn’t answered if we would catch asthma if he bit us!”

“I would never _bite_ you,” Remus replies, sweating slightly. “So it’s not really an issue, is it?”

“You say that now,” Peter says gravely. “Maybe asthma is code for vampire. That’s something you can catch by biting.”

“Yeah, look at all these necks, out here in the open, are you going to take a bite or not, Remus?”

“Asthma isn’t code for being a vampire! It’s code for my airways not working right!”

The carriages trundle up the path towards the castle, the chilly autumn air nipping at Remus' nose and ears. Peter’s prepared for this, his head already nestled into what looks like a hand-knitted hat, and for half a second Remus wishes that he had one as well. He remembers a moment later that he hates how he looks in hats and decides he’s not about to sacrifice his dignity for a hypothetical moment of warmth.

“I have an extra hat if anyone wants one,” Peter offers, miraculously pulling one from within the depths of his robes.

The offer is tempting. Remus manages to stay silent.

“Ooh, me,” James nearly shouts, speaking quickly to get in there first as Sirius barely opens his mouth.

Peter tosses the hat across the carriage to James, who misses the catch as the carriage jolts on a rock. The hat falls over the side and is immediately trampled by the carriage in the line behind them. There’s some laughter from the students behind them and James blushes a little.

“Don’t feel bad,” Peter says, revealing another hat. “I have one more.”

“Why didn’t you say that before?” Sirius asks indignantly, swiping his arm forward in a wild attempt to reach the hat.

Holding it as far out of Sirius' reach as he possibly can, Peter answers, “I wanted to drive up a healthy sense of competition! Who am I, a benevolent parent doling out prizes to all my children, even if they’re unworthy of them? I needed to see who _cared_ more.”

Peter’s outstretched arm causes the hat to get snagged on an overhanging tree branch as they pass it. “Oh, no, _no_!” he shouts, trying to pull it back into the carriage and nearly falling out when it won’t come unhooked from the branch.

“Let it go, Pete, it’s not worth it!”

“My mum made that for me! Now I’m down to only one hat to last for the entire year!”

Sirius frowns. “What’s your rate of going through hats that you need to have more than the normal number of just, you know, one?”

“Did you see the sheer number of winter outerwear items I had with me last year? Believe me, Sirius, that was not just a one-time thing. James may not appreciate the clothes his mother packs for him, but I do.”

“You appreciate the clothes _my_ mother packs for you? I’ll be sure to tell her.”

Before long they’ve made it all the way up the hill from the station and are pulling up to the entrance hall of the castle, their carriages shuffling along in a line, patiently letting everyone clamber out before rolling away back to wherever they come from. Remus watches them head off in the direction of the forest, seemingly pointed towards the corner of the grounds opposite to the location of his monthly trip. He wonders, briefly, how they move, but puts it out of his mind as they go inside the castle and make their way to the Great Hall, engulfed in the throng of other students.

The feast passes without much incident. Remus doesn’t care much about the Sorting, given that no one he knows is there and that at this point it’s been approximately six hours since they’d eaten Sirius' picnic lunch on the floor of the train. His stomach growls aggressively during Dumbledore’s obligatory start-of-term speech, causing Sirius to snort with laughter, earning a glare from a prefect sitting nearby.

“So,” Marlene says once the food has appeared and everyone has taken about a minute to actually eat something before starting a conversation, “how was everyone’s summer?”

The girls in their year, as usual, have sat on either side of the long table just to the left of the boys, and Remus feels a nice bit of familiarity in how they’ve settled in pretty much the same spot as where they tended to sit all last year. It makes him feel like they’re sinking into traditions, like they’re building a history with each other and with the school and with themselves, like this is what they’re going to do for a long time, and that it’s something they can always be comfortable with.

Remus has his own traditions too, traditions that he wishes he didn’t have to experience at all, ripping him apart once a month and reminding him that he can never _really_ rest, but he tries not to think about it. Not on the first night back.

He’s drawn out of his own thoughts by Dorcas and Sirius doing a lively reenactment of how they ran into each other over the summer in France, complete with over-the-top direct quotes from their conversations and surprisingly accurate – as far as Remus can tell from the one time he met them at the train station at the end of last year – impersonations of Sirius' parents.

“Why wasn’t I invited?” James grumbles as Dorcas finishes the story. “I mean, I know your parents are picky about who you hang out with, Sirius, but I’m a perfectly viable option.”

“You sound like you’re insulted that I didn’t invite you to come with me to the cotillion.”

“There was a _cotillion_? And I _still_ wasn’t invited?”

“I don’t know why you’d want to go, James,” Dorcas says, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. “It’s very over the top. They make us dress like it’s the 1800s.”

“It wasn’t great,” Marlene adds.

“How many of you were there?” James asks indignantly. Sirius and all the girls besides Lily raise their hands slightly. “Is this what people with old money do? It’s not my fault that my father is a self-made man. We’ll be old money in about a hundred years.”

“We aren’t old money –” Sirius begins.

“You’re old enough money that _we’d_ certainly never be invited to something like that,” Remus interjects, gesturing in a vague triangular motion to himself, Peter, and Lily. “Wizarding politics are something else.”

Lily shrugs. “Not sure I’d _want_ to go, anyway, I’d much rather do what I did over the summer than attend some stuffy ball.”

“What _did_ you do over the summer?” Mary asks. “We were gone as well, otherwise I would’ve asked you to come stay.”

“Absolutely nothing,” Lily replies. “It was great.”

“Did you have to see Snape?”

“I didn’t _have_ to see Severus, James, I saw him because I _wanted_ to, he lives down the road from me. He’s one of my best friends.”

“He’s a twat,” Peter says under his breath. Lily doesn’t hear him, but Remus does, and it makes him laugh so sharply and suddenly that it turns into a cough instead.

“Oh, watch out, Remus has asthma.”

“Why is that something we need to watch out for?” Lily asks, frowning. “Asthma isn’t contagious. Remus, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Remus croaks, suddenly thankful he’s playing up the asthma tactic so that his friends have an outlet to channel their concerns.

“Have you gone to see Madam Pomfrey yet?” Mary asks him. Remus is suddenly aware of the way his friends all look over to her, and then immediately at him. He never thought that they didn’t know about this, given that he told _his_ friends directly and Mary certainly told the other girls, but the way that they’re looking at him now makes him feel slightly sick with something he think might be tied to shame. Is there pity in their expressions? He can’t tell.

It isn’t as though they _know_ he has something else, something considerably more dangerous. It isn’t as though he _has_ to tell anyone, or as though he’s been asked, or as though anyone has even tried to question his excuses or his absences or his honestly fairly transparent lies. It isn’t even as though anyone has noticed the newer scar peeking out over his collarbone and running up a little onto the base of his throat. He’s thankful for that. He doesn’t want anyone to notice.

It’s inevitable that someone will, and then everything will fall apart, but Remus thinks if he can figure out a way to possibly keep them from noticing for as long as possible, maybe there’s a way for him to keep to these fragile, newly formed traditions with his friends for a little while longer.

“No, not yet,” he says instead. “Funnily enough, I thought I would rather come to the feast than sit in the hospital wing for half an hour and starve.”

As if this was somehow planned, Remus receives a tap on the shoulder then, from a tall fourth year boy that he recognizes from the Gryffindor Quidditch team. “Uh, hi?” he says tentatively.

“Hey, Lupin, Pomfrey’s looking for you,” the fourth year says. “I was just in the hospital wing and she said for me to come and get you, apparently you were supposed to go there right after the train.”

“Oh, I thought she just wanted to see me sometime tonight,” Remus lies. He had known perfectly well what Madam Pomfrey’s intentions had been but had deliberately chosen to ignore them. He isn’t relishing the way she’ll most likely chastise him for putting his friends before his health, but he’s already resigned himself to that fate.

“Nah, she seemed pretty worried. Anyway, she sent me to the feast and said to get you on my way in.” The fourth year pauses. “Oh, hey, Potter, Black, you trying out for the team again this year?”

“No,” Sirius replies ruefully, “James and his fucking _brilliant_ ideas last year got us banned until third year.”

“I said I was sorry! McDougal, tell them it isn’t as bad as they think it is,” James protests. McDougal raises his hands in a sort of defensive gesture that indicates that he’s staying out of it.

“Yeah, thanks a lot for that,” Marlene grumbles. “I was going to try out last year too, but apparently I _can’t_ because _someone_ ,” she leans around Dorcas to get a better vantage point to glare at James, “got all first years banned forever.”

“You could try out this year.”

“Yeah, there isn’t an open Beater position.”

“You know,” James muses, “technically first years were banned from having their own _brooms_ , not from _playing_.”

“And you think I could successfully make it through Quidditch trials on a _school broom_? Are you as delusional as you are reckless?”

James puts a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “That cut me to my core, Marlene. How could you?”

“Anyway, I have to go,” Remus says, standing. “Apparently Madam Pomfrey thinks my lungs are about to collapse if I don’t get to see her immediately. I’ll meet you at the dorm later.”

“I miss you already!” Sirius calls after him as he walks away.

Remus waves back at his friends over his shoulder, a sinking feeling in his stomach, as though something about this abrupt interruption of their barely formed start-of-term traditions is marking the beginning of the end. He tries to shake that sensation as he makes his way through the halls towards the hospital wing, his footsteps echoing through the empty stone corridors, but instead, the feeling grows.


	3. in which james is a conspiracy theorist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe ,,, my upload schedule ,,, has been good lately

Remus has been out of sight for less than ten seconds when James raps his knuckles on the table sharply, in the center of their group, drawing everyone’s attention away from his retreating figure in an attempt to get some focus.

“Yes?” Sirius asks, raising his eyebrows. “Do you have something you need to say, James?”

“Yeah, I do. Mary, what was in the letter?”

“From Madam Pomfrey?” Mary frowns. “I don’t know. What, did you think I was going to read Remus' post?”

James shrugs. “I don’t know. He’s being weird about this.”

“Maybe he’s being weird because he knows you want to read his fucking post. Isn’t that a crime?”

“It’s not like he would _know_ , Pete. And besides, this is just because I want to make sure he’s okay.”

Sirius picks at a loose string on his napkin before adding, “Jamie, I think if he wasn’t okay, he would tell us.”

James gives Sirius a look that gives off the distinct impression that he’s just trying to indicate how stupid of a statement Sirius just made. Sirius is slightly offended by that; he doesn’t think his statement was stupid at all. “He doesn’t tell us _anything_ , Sirius!”

“What are you even talking about?” Sirius replies. “Why would he hide anything?”

“Asthma isn’t serious enough for him to have to go to the hospital wing in the middle of the feast when he isn’t even having any problems at the moment. Madam Pomfrey literally just wanted to check up on him for no reason, but why did it have to be right now? If he was fine, couldn’t he just stop by afterwards?” James leans back a little bit, as though to recline in a chair and let the rest of the group contemplate the skillful logic of his arguments, but he seems to have forgotten that the seats in the Great Hall are all benches, and has to catch himself slightly so that he doesn’t fall backwards.

“Didn’t you not even know what asthma was until earlier today? How are you suddenly an expert?” Marlene asks skeptically.

“I’m just trying to put together the _clues_ , Marlene, let me have this!”

The conversation devolves from there, James insisting that Remus has some kind of secret that Madam Pomfrey is in on and that must be why he leaves so often, since no one _else_ seems to disappear as frequently as he does. To Sirius, this sounds as though James is just trying to provide some sort of entertainment for the rest of the meal, and in order to do that, he’s willing to throw all semblance of logic to the winds and jump as far as he can to strange conclusions. He listens with amusement though, as James’ theories for Remus' disappearances get wilder and wilder, causing the rest of the table to insist unanimously that there’s no backing behind them, and that Remus has been telling the truth the whole time. There’s no reason to doubt him, so why should they?

Dumbledore stands and makes a short speech about beginning the school year and dismisses the entire school, their group staying close to the rest of their House so that they can manage to get into Gryffindor Tower and learn the password from the nearest prefect. Sirius wonders who writes the passwords. Maybe it’s whoever’s the most senior prefect in the House, or if a Gryffindor is Head Boy or Girl. He doubts he’ll ever have the ability to make the passwords, but if he does, he’d certainly make them better than the bizarre ones they’re having now.

“What the fuck does _pandiculation_ mean?” Sirius asks as they clamber through the portrait hole. “Who decided that _that_ was a good password?”

“I dunno, the Fat Lady?” Peter replies, hopping into the common room right before Sirius. He offers Sirius his hand to use as leverage when he comes down himself, and Sirius grabs it.

“You’re so sweet, Pete. What a gentleman. Sweet Pete.”

Peter does a sweeping bow that turns into a kneel and kisses Sirius' hand before accepting the compliment. “Why thank you, my angel.”

“Why don’t I get a kiss?” James complains loudly. “No one helped me down from the portrait hole and kissed _my_ hand.”

“That’s because you’re annoying.”

“I’m not annoying! I resent that, Sirius.”

“Look, I’m not about to kiss the hand of a man who accuses Remus of faking his asthma,” Peter counters, flopping down on one of the couches in front of the fire. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius sees the girls heading up to their dorm together; he’s vaguely aware of them saying goodnight and raises a hand in a farewell motion.

“I didn’t _accuse_ him. I was theorizing. He wasn’t even there to be accused.”

“And talking about him behind his back, too. I’m disappointed in you, Jamie.”

James shrugs, sitting next to Peter on the couch. Sirius takes one of the armchairs, curling his legs up beside him like a cat trying to fit onto a cushion. “I dunno,” James replies. “I just think it would be cool if one of us had an exciting secret.”

There’s a pause.

“It’s not exactly a secret if everyone knows about it,” Sirius says.

At the same time, Peter announces, “I can juggle, and I don’t think any of you knew that before, is that an exciting enough secret?”

“That’s certainly _exciting_ , but it isn’t a secret anymore, Pete!” James complains. “You were supposed to let me figure it out on my own. It’s like detective work.”

Peter throws his hands in the air. “How exactly would you end up deducing that my exciting secret is being able to juggle? How often do you think juggling comes up in conversation?”

James seems to be struggling to find the words to his reply. “We… would talk about it… whenever we talk about the circus.”

“Oh, so quite frequently, considering how much of a goddamn clown you are.”

At that searing retort from Peter, Sirius lets out the most horrendous snort of laughter that he’s ever heard come out of his or anyone else’s mouth, causing James to pause in his indignant reply just to look at Sirius for a full ten seconds before thoroughly destroying him for the noise he just made.

It takes Remus another 45 minutes – give or take – to come to the common room, and by this point, there’s practically no one else around, just the three of them sitting around the fireplace waiting for him. Peter, who’s been lying on the sofa the whole time, staring up at the ceiling, has been sitting up to see who it is every time he hears the portrait hole open, but after a while, the repetition of this motion has tired him out. Sirius doesn’t blame him, they _did_ just gorge themselves at the feast, Peter can’t be expected to do sit-ups.

“I can’t believe you got tired that quickly, Pete,” James says, sitting on the other end of the couch with Peter’s socked feet in his lap. “Also, you have a hole in your sock.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do, it’s on your toe.”

“Which toe, I have ten.”

“I – the big one.”

“You idiot, there are _two_ big ones, have you never seen a human foot before?”

“This just in, James doesn’t have normal feet,” Sirius adds in a voice like an announcer at a sporting event, and James picks up one of Peter’s shoes from where they’ve been discarded on the floor in front of the couch and chucks it at Sirius' head. Sirius dodges it successfully from his spot in the armchair just as the portrait hole opens again and Remus walks in.

“What… have I just walked in to?” he asks, wearing a quizzical expression.

“Remus? Is that you?” Peter asks, voice slightly flat sounding from his flat position on the couch. “I can’t see from this angle.”

“Just sit up, Pete.”

“I’m too weak for that, James. I need you to help me.” Peter holds out his hand and wiggles it feebly for dramatic effect. James sighs and takes it, pulling Peter into a sitting position. “Thank you. What a kind young man.”

“Aw, thanks, Pete.”

“Not you, James, I was clearly looking at Remus when I said that.”

“Why are you talking like an old woman?” Remus asks, sitting down in the other armchair, opposite of Sirius'.

“Additional point: why are you talking like an old woman who _lies_?” Sirius asks. “The day anyone calls Remus a _kind young man_ and genuinely means it is the day I die.”

“I _did_ genuinely mean it, Remus is the light of my life.”

“Am I?” Remus asks, raising his eyebrows. “Thanks, Pete.”

Peter makes a finger gun motion with his left hand, seemingly choosing to do this instead of saying something like _you’re welcome_ , and flops back down on the couch. His legs fly up into the air a little bit with the momentum and nearly kick James in the face, but he jerks his head backwards just in time.

There’s a moment of pause, where they’re just sitting and absorbing being at school again, being together again, being quiet for a few minutes before everything all starts happening again. That’s how it goes when they come back to school, there’s maybe one day, one night, one minute of peace before everything is go, go, go. Sirius thinks this might be one of the best nights of the year, considering it’s the second time this has happened. This feels like an easy part of the routine. It feels somehow both like a beginning and a continuation. He feels _comfortable_ , which is a nice change of pace.

He hasn’t felt comfortable for a while. Something wasn’t really right when he went home over the summer. It might have been the things that he and his friends found out over the course of their first year about his parents. Which weren’t necessarily _bad_ , he never heard his father say anything to indicate that he’s a bad person, but Sirius has been thinking a lot about what the things he heard might actually mean. He’s managed to brush it off with the thoughts that everyone he grew up with seems to have the same general political opinions, that his father isn’t any different from all of the perfectly respectable people he spends his time with, that just because Bratum was at their house and ended up being a Death Eater doesn’t mean anything _real_. He was _trying_ to recruit Sirius' family, but he didn’t _succeed_.

Sometimes Sirius has to remind himself of that to make sure he doesn’t spiral into thinking that his family is made up of bad people. He doesn’t want them to be bad people. He doesn’t know if that would make him a bad person too.

Sirius likes to think he’s a good person. He feels like he’s a good person when he’s at school, with his friends. That isn’t to say that he didn’t when he was at home, but just that after everything happened with Bratum, something felt different. Not in the way his parents treated him or anything, they hadn’t even wanted to talk about what happened. Sirius had tried to bring it up with them, but they’d brushed it off, telling him that it was in the past and that he needed to learn from the experience – what he was _supposed_ to learn, he was never quite clear about – and had continued with the summer social events within their circle as though nothing had happened. And so two months had gone by, and nothing external had changed, it was within Sirius himself.

He doesn’t know what exactly that change was. He thinks he might be scared to look into it too much; for now, he’s just trying to let himself settle into how things are at school. He’s starting to feel more right already; it was like things had just been slightly shifted out of place, out of focus, while he was at home. Maybe he should ask his mum about this, he’s always felt like he could talk to her. But maybe she wouldn’t understand. He could ask his friends instead.

“Why were you sitting out here instead of going upstairs, anyway?” Remus asks then, interrupting Sirius' thoughts.

“What?” Sirius asks. “Oh, we wanted to wait for you.”

Remus smiles a little at that, as though he doesn’t quite understand why they decided to do that, but enjoying the sentiment all the same. “Why? I was just getting checked over, you didn’t need to wait for me.”

“I dunno,” James replies. “Tradition.”

“What do you mean, tradition?”

“We always go in together on the first night, and we always leave together on the last day,” Peter supplies, propping himself up on his elbows to join the conversation more effectively. James holds a hand out after Peter says that, as though to indicate that this elaboration is exactly what he was looking for.

Remus looks as though half of him wants to argue that it can’t _really_ be a tradition since they’ve only done it one time, but Sirius is glad when he doesn’t. Instead, Remus just stands and says, “Well, then, shall we continue the tradition?”

James gently removes Peter’s feet from his lap and stands, holding out his hands to pull him up as well. Sirius does his best to untangle his legs from the complete pretzel he’s twisted himself into from being curled up in the armchair for so long, almost falling as he stands, having to catch his balance on Remus' arm as he walks past.

“Are you okay?” Remus asks, clearly attempting to stifle a laugh, judging from the sound of his voice.

“Yeah, of course,” Sirius answers in the most casual tone he can manage, clearing his throat as he stands up straight. “Let’s go.”

James leads the way, bounding up the stairs two at a time, the rest of them suddenly rushing to keep up with him after being lulled into a state of near-lethargy for the better part of an hour. He waits until they all reach the landing, the wooden door in front of them waiting for them to step through and begin the next chapter of their lives.

“Stop being dramatic, just open the door, I want to go to bed,” Peter says, trying to sound irritated and failing. James sticks his tongue out at him and opens the door.

The moonlight is coming through the window and falling in gentle rays across the room. Their things have already been set up at the ends of their beds and the smell of the room is familiar and comforting and as James throws his jacket on his bed and immediately claims the first spot in the bathroom, Sirius feels himself settling into place, kicking off his shoes and falling backwards onto his bed. He looks up at the canopy of the bed and listens to Remus arguing with James through the bathroom door about needing to get in there and James’ muffled replies and Peter’s deep, already-asleep breathing. Strangely, he feels like now, instead of two months ago, this is coming home.


	4. in which quidditch trials don't go exactly how james envisioned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lex ,, my babey ,,, this is for you ,,,,, also this chapter is LONG i hope u enjoy im sorry for the delay i started a new job so it has been HECTIC!! but i hope everyone enjoys!!! love u my babies <3
> 
> twitter - gryffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

“Quidditch trials are coming up,” James announces over breakfast nearly three weeks into the school year. “How are we feeling about that, lads?”

“How are we feeling about what, exactly?” Peter replies. “Remus and I don’t play, and you and Sirius are banned from actually participating for another year.”

“When has being _banned_ from doing something ever stopped us?”

“I dunno, James, when Madam Hooch knows our faces and won’t allow us to take part in the trials?” Sirius says. He pauses to take a bite of toast. “You know they won’t have just forgotten, right?”

“Also, I think you have more stock in your abilities to get away with things than is really warranted,” Remus muses. “Out of all the things you’ve done over the exactly one year that we’ve been at Hogwarts, you’ve managed to not get in trouble for a grand total of zero of them. What makes you think that this will be any different?”

“Remus, Remus, Remus,” James replies, shaking his head as though he’s a benevolent father teaching a lesson to his child just learning the ways of the world. Remus raises his eyebrows but says nothing. “All I want is to participate in the great sport of Quidditch, what makes you think that the good professors of Hogwarts would want to prevent me from exercising my rights to, well, exercise?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” Peter says, cutting into James’ purposeful dramatic pause. “That’s why you got banned in the first place. You broke your leg because you wanted to impress everyone who was already on the Gryffindor team, and all the people in the audience, and you got you _and_ Sirius banned.”

“I didn’t even think we were going to make the team in the first place, there wasn’t a point in doing the trials, we were fucking first years,” Sirius says. “Pete, will you pass the pumpkin juice?”

“That shit is disgusting, Sirius, I don’t know why you drink it.”

“I drink it because it’s pretty much the only thing they _offer_ , Remus, what, do you expect me to pull some blackcurrant out of my arse?”

“Even arse juice would be better than shitty pumpkin juice and you know it,” Remus retorts, just as Marlene walks by with Dorcas.

“This just in, Remus wants to drink arse juice,” Marlene says in a voice that sounds as though she’s a newscaster.

“Shut up, McKinnon.”

“He doesn’t deny it! What will we at Hogwarts News uncover next?”

“Report on this,” James says dramatically, standing up and using Peter’s shoulder for balance as he takes another step upwards to perch on the bench. “I’m making this known – I, James F. Potter, will successfully make it through Quidditch trials and earn a spot on the team, all the while having my identity -” Here, James waves his hands around wildly, wiggling his fingers, like some sort of Muggle illusionist, “- _completely obscured_.”

“Thanks for the scoop,” Marlene replies flatly. “That story will go exactly nowhere, considering it’s not interesting at all and we don’t even have a school newspaper, but you know what, I appreciate the effort. Maybe I’ll make posters. Who knows?”

“You know what, Marlene, the fact that you’re even willing to report on my adventures is wonderful in itself. You’ll be the first to receive a prize when I prove everyone wrong.”

“Sit down, Potter, you aren’t making the team!” comes a shout from across the Great Hall. James waves off the comment, with surprisingly good timing, as a half-eaten croissant comes flying through the air at him, knocking into his hand as it’s already in motion.

“That was offensive. Whoever threw that, you’re on my fucking list.”

“What kind of list is that?” Peter asks apprehensively as James sits down. “A list of people… to kill?”

James shrugs. “I don’t have a list. I don’t even know who threw that. I just think I need to be ready to rule with an iron fist when I make the team.”

“Why the fuck would you just being on the team give you the power to rule? You’d have the lowest rank out of everyone.”

“Those are just details, Remus. I’ll ascend to the rank of captain soon enough.”

“You know, I admire your confidence sometimes,” Sirius says. “Then these two,” he jerks his head sideways to indicate to Remus and Peter, “start being rightfully skeptical and I realize you’ve been the biggest idiot on the planet the whole time.”

“Does that make you the second biggest idiot for believing in me?” James asks.

“I’ll always believe in you, my angel,” Sirius replies, reaching out as though to caress James’ face, but jerking his hand back as James leans into it and tries to lick his palm, “you can do anything you set your mind to. But sometimes you set your mind to stupid things.”

“Sometimes?” Remus mutters. Sirius elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Ow.”

“Speaking of stupid things,” Peter says. “You just told the entire Great Hall that you’re planning on wearing a disguise to Quidditch trials.”

“So?”

“So they’ll know it’s you if anyone shows up in a disguise! Also, what do you think the likelihood of being able to not get asked to de-mask before flying is? How are you supposed to tell you you’ve made the team if they don’t even know who you are?”

“I don’t know why this is so hard for you to understand, Pete, clearly they’re going to be so amazed by my spectacular flying that they’ll offer me the position on the spot.”

Peter sorts. “Okay, keep telling yourself that, James.”

Much to Peter’s dismay particularly, James spends the rest of the week working on “perfecting” his plan on how to conceal his identity. None of the ideas he’s come up with have been particularly good, and it isn’t as though his friends haven’t been telling him that, but James just won’t stop. Peter almost wants to help him with it. Maybe then he’d be slightly less terrible.

Peter almost jumps in when James is trying to Transfigure himself into a short version of Dumbledore, but changes his mind when Remus pulls out a camera from his trunk instead, answering the _what’s that for_ questions with simply, “Posterity.”

“Where did you get the camera?”

“My mum gave it to me. She says I’ll be glad I have pictures of now sometime in the future. I don’t know. I’m not framing any of these, I don’t want to see James permanently grimacing at me from a spot on the wall.”

“Wait, they don’t move?” Sirius makes a wild lunge for the camera. “Let me take some, I want to see what they look like when you get them developed.”

“Fuck off, get your own camera.”

“Maybe the reason why your mum gave you this is because she wanted photographic evidence of you not knowing how to fucking share.”

“Maybe the reason I won’t let you use it is because I want photographic evidence of you being an annoying cunt.”

“Annoying _cunt_? Remus Lupin,” Sirius exclaims, putting a hand on his chest as though he’s an aghast elderly woman, “I have _never_ in my _life_ behaved like anything but a gentleman around you. The fact that you would sling such wild accusations around like this… why, I don’t know what to say.”

“See, that’s exactly why I want photographic evidence,” Remus replies, snapping a picture of Sirius looking affronted. “You say this every time, I need this to make sure you remember.”

Remus all but forgets about the camera within two days of its initial appearance, and Peter ends up picking it up. To his surprise, this is something he begins to enjoy far more than he was originally expecting to; there’s something about being able to push a button and capture a single instant in time, a flash of what the world was like at that moment, never before and never again, that fascinates him. It’s this little camera that Peter brings with him to the Quidditch pitch on Saturday morning, trailing behind the rest of his friends and stopping to snap photos of the grounds around them.

“Pete, are you coming? James is getting pretty far ahead,” Remus asks, turning around just as Peter is framing his three best friends in the shot. James and Sirius are running down the grassy hill towards the pitch, James’ broom slung over his shoulder and Sirius with his hands thrown in the air. Peter can practically hear him shouting from this distance. Remus, just barely turned around, is squinting a little bit from the sun, raising a hand to shield his eyes, a half-grin on his face and at exactly the right spot through the lens that Peter can frame everything perfectly.

Peter presses the shutter button, then lowers the camera and skips forward, catching up with Remus a little bit. “I only fell behind because you’re your legs are seven feet long,” he complains amicably. Remus knocks into Peter with his shoulder as they walk together the rest of the way down the pitch.

Sirius is already in the stands when they get there, arguing with James from the front row and leaning over the railing dangerously far to do so. “You look like an idiot, you’re gonna get us thrown out.”

James, swathed in a cloak with a pattern of stars on it and a very long fake beard, yells up at Sirius, “I do not! And that won’t happen, they can’t stop us from _watching_ at the very least.”

“Hey,” Remus says lightly as he and Peter climb up the steps, taking a seat next to the spot that Sirius is standing in front of. “Still trying to get him to stop?”

“You could help, you know.” Sirius replies, not turning around. “James, you’re gonna get caught.”

“Yeah, I will, if you keep saying my name like that!”

Sirius throws his hands in the air. “Everyone already knows you’re doing this! You announced it at breakfast this week! If you think anyone didn’t hear you, you must think your voice is a hell of a lot quieter than it actually is.”

“No one knows who I am -” James argues, just as the Gryffindor Captain, M.G. McGonagall, passes him on her way to the pitch.

“I’m not letting you on the pitch until next year, Potter,” she says casually, pulling off the hood of his cloak as she passes. “It’s your own fault you got banned.”

“Hey!” James complains. “Look, Gillian -”

M.G. raises her eyebrows at him. “Only my friends get to call me that.”

“Well, I can’t call you _McGonagall_ , that’s what we call your aunt.”

“Then I guess you can’t talk to me until you figure it out. Maybe you’ll have it figured out by next year when you can actually fly.” She pulls on the fake beard and it comes undone from where it had been fastened with a string around James’ ears, tumbling sadly to the ground. “Go sit with your friends, you can still watch.”

Peter feels a little badly for James as he climbs the stairs to take the seat on the end of the row next to Remus, his too-large cloak dragging along behind him and his head dropping dejectedly, but he takes a picture anyway.

Trials for Gryffindor go by quickly, they only needed to find a Chaser and a Seeker, and since James has been rejected, he fills time by grumbling nearly nonsensically about the injustice of it all and occasionally throwing in some color commentary about the way people are flying and how he’s sure he could do much better.

To the left of the stands, coming from the direction of the castle, Peter starts to see Ravenclaw hopefuls and supporters making their way towards the pitch. He stands, getting ready to leave now that the Gryffindor trials are over, but he stops when he hears James ask, “Pete, where are you going?”

“Are – are we not done?”

“We have to stay for all the trials today, we have to know what we’re up against,” James replies, as though that was obvious.

“Do we really have to?” Remus asks, but it comes out in more of an exasperated groan than actual words.

“ _Yes_ , we have to, back me up, Sirius.”

Sirius shrugs. “I mean… we have to know who James and I are going to have to beat next year.”

Peter sighs and sits down heavily on the bench. “Remus, we could leave.”

“You’re right. We should go.”

“You can’t go!” Sirius protests. “What, are you going to leave me alone with James?”

James scrunches up all his features in an effect that accurately conveys how insulted he is by Sirius’ statement. “What did I ever do to deserve this treatment? And from my best friends no less.”

“Best friends?” Remus asks skeptically. “James, we’re your only friends.”

“First of all, that’s insulting. I have friends everywhere. I make friends with everyone I meet. I made friends with a squirrel yesterday.”

“That’s not exactly an achievement, he just wanted some of your grapes, that’s what happens when you bring snacks outside.

“Okay, look, Sirius, I don’t need you to destroy my self-esteem with technicalities. _Second_ , just because you think you’re my _only_ friends, doesn’t mean you can’t still be my _best_ friends.”

“Who are you hanging out with if not us?” Peter wonders.

“What, do you want a list?” James replies in a challenging tone. “Well, I don’t have one. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

The light bickering continues in the same vein as the Ravenclaws get ready to start their trials. Pete is surprised that they’ve managed to pass unnoticed in the stands, considering the group of Ravenclaw girls hanging around the railing almost in front of them and M.G McGonagall’s strict no non-Gryffs allowed policy during trials. He thinks she might be a bit paranoid about other Houses trying to steal their strategies and get a sense of who their new players are – it is _just_ inter-House Quidditch after all – but he’s not about to voice that opinion to the general Hogwarts population. Peter thinks he might get jumped for saying something like that.

James shushes them and pays rapt attention when the trials begin, only allowing relevant commentary. In response to these restrictions, the other boys try to sneak in as many unrelated comments as possible in a tone that makes it sounds pertinent so as to get at least halfway through the sentence without him yelling at them.

“Look,” James hisses suddenly, smacking Sirius with the side of his fist.

“Ow, James, that was right on my arm bone.”

“Arm bone?”

“Shut up, Remus.”

“Both of you, stop talking, look,” James says, glaring down at the pitch as though it had personally offended him. “See, there’s my rival.”

‘Your rival? Since when do you have a rival?”

“Since I saw that fucking Conor Vance was going to be allowed to fly, that’s when, Pete!” James practically shouts, causing some heads to turn in their direction. “He’s in _our_ year, and he gets to fly! When _we_ don’t get to.”

Sirius squints down at the pitch, watching the blond boy that James had pointed out walk about halfway on and then take off, flying towards the goal posts. “Is he the only second year flying this season?”

“Yes,” James replies, his tone somewhere between dejected and sulky.

“There’s no way you looked at the sign-up sheets for all four Houses,” Remus counters. “You don’t have that much dedication.”

“For Quidditch, Remus, I would do anything.”

“Does… does Conor know you two are rivals?” Peter asks. “Have you ever even spoken to him?”

“Not yet,” James says. Peter thinks he’s trying to sound menacing. It isn’t particularly effective, seeing as James is twelve. “But he will.”

“What are you gonna do, kill him? He can just fly away.”

“Maybe I will, Sirius, don’t underestimate my abilities.”

“You’ll get throw out if you do shit to my brother,” one of the girls at the railing says sharply, turning around to fix James with a pointed stare. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Do it, then!” James answers belligerently.

“He’s joking,” Sirius supplies.

“I am not.”

“Shut up.”

Conor Vance’s whole trial has gone by without any of them paying enough attention to actually see how it went, considering they’ve been bickering the whole time, and before James is done arguing, he’s made his way back up to meet his sister.

“Hey! You were great!” she exclaims as he approaches.

“You weren’t even watching,” Conor replies, not sounding particularly bothered. “What’s up, Gryffs?”

“Hey,” Sirius replies, as James looks like he wasn’t expecting to have to deal with a face-to-face interaction with his so-called-rival. “Nice flying.”

“Thanks,” Conor says. “Maybe I’ll see you and Potter on the pitch next year when your ban is finally lifted.” To his sister, he adds, “Are we walking back together or what, we’re supposed to Floo Mum today.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” she replies, starting to walk after him. She pauses, stopping in front of Remus, who’s been decidedly not paying attention for the past at least five minutes. “Bye, Remus.”

“…Bye,” Remus replies, sounding thoroughly confused. “Do I know her?”

“How should I know?” Peter says.

“That’s my sister, Emmeline,” Conor supplies helpfully. “See you around.”

Remus, if possible, looks even more confused. “Do I know him? Who is that?”

“Conor Vance,” James replies, through clenched teeth, and Sirius bursts out laughing next to him.

Despite James’ insistence after the trials that the world and his life were ending immediately, life goes on. They’re back in classes as usual on Monday morning, and James spends the entire time bemoaning his own existence and generally talking Peter’s ear off about how his life is in shambles because Conor Vance made the team and he _didn’t_.

“You didn’t even fly,” Remus says flatly after classes are finished on Tuesday, lying on the floor of the stone corridor outside of the Transfiguration classroom. James has got it in his head that he could have convinced M.G. McGonagall to let him fly if only he’d had help from her aunt of all people, so they’re waiting for Professor McGonagall herself to make an appearance. As far as Peter knows, she doesn’t have a class during the last period on Tuesdays, so he isn’t sure why they’re still sitting around.

“That’s the _problem_ , I should have been allowed to,” James argues. “And Ravenclaw’s lineup is already out, he fucking made the team.”

“Why are you still on about this? It didn’t happen, you’ll try again next year, stop being an irritating fuck,” Remus snaps back, sounding angrier than Peter thinks is really warranted. Yes, James has been annoying about this for the past few days, but he doesn’t think it was to the level that he needed to be nearly shouted at.

“Okay,” James replies, his tone slightly intimidated. “No need to scream.”

“I didn’t _scream,_ I have a headache and you’re being a twat.”

“Do you swear more when you’re upset or just when James won’t shut up?”

“I swear, Sirius, I’m about to come for you too,” Remus says, but despite his threats he doesn’t move from the ground. He looks tired. Peter wonders what that’s about. Remus always seems to look tired, but he sleeps more than anyone Peter’s ever met.

He knows that James has suspicions that there’s something going on, but he doesn’t want to intrude into something that Remus doesn’t want to tell them. Maybe he has family problems, maybe that’s why he goes home so much. After all, he did say his mum was sick, right? That has to be stressful. Peter can’t imagine what it must be like to have to worry about an ill parent all the time. It isn’t as though Remus has to care for her, but Peter thinks that maybe he looks tired because he’s worried about not seeing her again.

Peter doesn’t know exactly how sick Hope Lupin is. Actually, now that he thinks about it, when they met her on the platform after last Christmas, when they were all heading back to school together, she seemed... fine. Perfectly normal, actually.

Maybe it was just a good day. Maybe she’s just not as sick as Peter assumed she was, considering how often Remus goes home to see her, Or maybe... maybe James could be on to something.

But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? When have James’ wild ideas ever amounted to anything worth taking seriously?

_He and Sirius were right about Bratum,_ a small voice in Peter’s head says. Perhaps, he thinks, he should trust that intuition.

Peter finds himself scrunching up his eyebrows in thought as he sits in the hall, not paying attention to his friends bickering between themselves or the people walking past them, not until a horribly familiar voice says, “Hey, Lupin,” and the owner of that voice knock a foot into Remus’ leg to get his attention.

“What do you want, Snape?” Remus replies, not sitting up.

“I’ve got a question.”

“Is it about History of Magic?”

“I - no, of course it isn’t,” Snape replies indignantly. “It’s about if you’re leaving sometime soon.”

“Why the fuck would that be any of your business?” Sirius interjects sharply. “We aren’t friends.”

“Well, I’m not friends with _you_ , Black, for plenty of reasons, namely being that you’re the biggest blood traitor I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet -”

Sirius laughs, but it comes out in more of a surprised scoff. “Snivellus, you can’t call me a blood traitor, you’re a half-blood.”

“Nice superiority complex you’ve got there. Anyway, I was talking to Lupin, not you.”

“Oh, wow, half-blood to half-blood,” Remus comments dryly, still on the floor. “How generous of you to deign to speak to me, Snape.”

“Look, I just wanted to ask where you go every month?”

“Every month?” Remus asks. “Wow, you’ve been keeping track. Are you sure you want to know?”

Snape leans over a little bit, looking intrigued. “Yeah, that’s why I asked.”

Remus props himself up on his elbows. “To fuck your mum.”

“Merlin,” Snape replies in disgust, standing up straight again. “All I did was ask, you don’t have to be vulgar.”

“I’m being vulgar so you stop talking to me. I have a headache and your voice is _extremely_ grating. Please go as far away as physically possible.”

Snape starts walking away, shaking his head as though Remus refusing to answer personal questions was some sort of personal attack on him. “All I did was ask a simple question, Lupin. Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus calls after him, immediately flopping back down on the floor once he’s finished speaking.

There’s a pause.

“Are you going home?” James asks. Peter is surprised that he’d been so quiet during the interaction with Snape, considering the two of them are on fight-on-sight terms, but it might have something to do with how Remus had snapped at him earlier.

Remus sighs. “Yeah, tomorrow, for a couple of days.” He doesn’t elaborate.

He continues not to elaborate for the rest of the night and all through the next day, and when he leaves he supplies his friends with the standard, “I’m seeing my mum,” to which they all reply, “Obviously.”

Remus heads off while they’re at dinner, pausing slightly at the entrance to the Great Hall to wave at them. Peter waves back, seeing James and Sirius do the same thing.

“It is obvious, right?” he asks in a hushed tone after Remus is out of sight.

“What is?” Sirius says.

“Remus. Going home. He’s telling the truth, right?”

“I don’t know. I still think there’s something going on,” James replies, matching Peter and Sirius’ volumes. “But it’s clear that neither of you agree with me, so.”

Sirius looks across the table at Pete, and the look in his eyes tells Peter exactly what he needs to know. They’re on the same page, have been having the same doubts.

“Maybe you’re right,” Peter says after a beat, and James clutches a hand to his heart.

“I’ve been waiting so long to hear those words, Pete my love. Now, onto the conspiracy dissection. Where do we begin?”

 

The September moon is the worst one of the year. It’s closely followed by December, January, and July. September though, is a completely different animal. September makes the wolf tear itself apart. September makes the boy tear himself apart. September is when they boy feels most alone, and when the wolf does its best to remind him of that. This year, the September moon is bright and cold and the wolf is so lonely in the house by itself. Across the hills, the people in the castle hear everything about the wolf’s feelings, yet to the boy’s intense relief, despite his agony, they hear none of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THE VANCE TWINS MAKE THEIR FIRST APPEARANCE IF YOU FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER U HAVE PROBABLY BEEN ANTICIPATING THIS IF NOT ,,, WELL U R IN FOR A TREAT ;)


	5. in which the boys make up six legs of a whole centaur and four parts of a whole idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm apologizing in advance. this is a sad one. my boyfriend literally said, "i'm sorry, but fuck you for the last line" when he read this last night. but on the bright side, it's also a long one!!! i hope that makes up for any emotional turmoil. (fingers crossed)
> 
> twitter - gryffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

Remus once asked his father why it is that he only has to spend one night as a wolf, when it seems as though the moon lasts for several days longer than he’s actually affected. He was told that this was because as soon as the moon reaches its peak fulness, it immediately starts to wane. In fact, his father had told him, the true full moon lasts only for an instant, but it’s the human eye that sees its continuation for several days.

The wolf doesn’t seem to be aware of that, Remus has come to realize. The single instant of it actually being a full moon doesn’t matter to the beast inside him, nor does the length of time that the moon seems to be full but isn’t. Remus doesn’t know how the rules of the moon’s decision to tear him apart work, or why it doesn’t last for an instant like his father said it _should_ , but he supposes he should be grateful that he doesn’t have to spend longer out of commission. Maybe that’s how the wolf is trying to get him to feel.

Remus doesn’t understand the wolf’s motivations – if it has any – but this seems like something it would take a savage satisfaction in. That thought makes his stomach twist with the sheer _injustice_ of it all, but he clamps down on that feeling. He was lucky this time. He only had to spend two days in the hospital wing. Last year, the September moon was much worse.

He wonders, as he walks back to the dorm, bag in hand to create an accurate illusion of having been away for a few days, if it’ll get worse as he gets older. It certainly seems to be heading in that direction. Perhaps he’s just feeling the ache of his post-moon body right now, but Remus thinks he’s rarely had this much trouble getting back into the swing of things. He’d lied to Madam Pomfrey earlier, just to get her to let him leave. Remus thinks if she had been able to tell that he’d been greatly exaggerating how much better he feels, she would have forced him to stay for another night. However, since his wounds had pretty much healed and he’d adamantly insisted that he was _fine_ , it wasn’t as though she had a real reason to keep him there.

Despite his insistence that he was ready to go back to school, Remus thinks he can feel his body giving out as he enters the common room. It’s official, he’s already sailed past the peak of his existence; now his body is essentially elderly.

“Remus!” he hears from across the room, and looks over to see Sirius standing up by their usual spot, James and Peter sitting around him. Oddly, judging from how they’re positioned, it looks as though the three of them were leaned in, having a discussion about something that they don’t want anyone else to hear about, when Sirius stood up suddenly, leaving James and Peter in strange, hunched-over positions.

“Hey,” Remus replies, raising his hand half-heartedly. Even that motion makes him feel exhausted. “What’s been happening?”

“We were just…” Sirius seems to be trying to figure out what to say. Something about the secretive nature of his friends’ behaviors makes Remus feel slightly uneasy. But there’s no reason to suspect they’re talking about him, right?

“You idiot, did you forget what we were talking about already?” Peter asks, finally leaning back from his weird position as Remus reaches their spot, collapsing on the couch next to James. “Halloween.”

“Oh, yeah! We’re trying to figure out our costumes,” Sirius continues, sitting down and sounding relieved that he’d been given the answer.

Part of Remus doesn’t quite believe this is what was happening. However, he doesn’t exactly have a reason to _not_ believe it. Just a feeling.

“Well, they have to be better than last years’ this time,” Remus says. “I am not going as anything blue again.”

“There goes my plans to have us do Sesame Street characters,” Peter replies. “And I had my heart set on you being Cookie Monster, too.”

“Cookie _what_?” James asks, sounding fascinated by the implications of Peter’s statement. Remus, in particular, ignores him.

“Pete, you and I both know that if I were a Sesame Street character, I would be Oscar the Grouch.”

“That’s accurate, considering you live in complete disarray at all times.”

“That isn’t true at all! I’m the most organized out of any of you!”

Peter just stares at Remus incredulously for a moment. “I make detailed lists of things I need to get done, check them off as I go through them, and brought _highlighters_ to this school where all stationary seems to come from the Middle fucking Ages, just so that I could mark which parts of my notes were the most important.”

“Details. My notes are the ones that are the most extensive.”

Sirius snorts. “Yeah, that’s because you don’t know how to fucking be concise.”

“At least one row of my writing doesn’t take up six inches of parchment, _Sirius_. We both know this is how you get away with writing your History of Magic essays when you don’t pay enough attention in class to have _nearly_ enough material.”

“Wrong!” Sirius exclaims triumphantly. “I don’t use big letters on my essays, I just steal your notes!”

“HA!” Remus immediately shouts back. “Sirius steals _my_ notes to write essays. What about you being the most organized, Pete?”

“How did it come to this,” James asks no one in particular, leaning back and staring at the ceiling dejectedly. “We were just trying to plan Halloween, my favorite holiday of all time.”

James ends up managing to direct the flow of conversation back towards Halloween, and by the time they’re heading downstairs for dinner, they’ve narrowed it down to three possible options for coordinated costumes and have simultaneously managed to prevent anyone else from hearing about it.

“You know, I think that’s a feat in itself,” Sirius remarks over dinner, rather loudly and not noticing Lily looking in his direction. “Costume ideas get stolen all the time, it’s honestly fucking incredible that no one’s –”

“Hey, Black, what are you gonna be for Halloween?” Dorcas shouts from down the table, and Sirius whips his head around to stare at her, a shocked expression on his face.

“None of your _business_ , Meadowes!” he retorts sharply before turning his attention back to his friends, none of whom are at all surprised that he was overheard. “Oh shit, they know.”

“Wow, I wonder how they heard we were planning something,” Remus deadpans. Sirius throws a dinner roll at him. “Your mother would be appalled by your table manners right now.”

“Well, my mother isn’t here, is she?”

“Ooh, don’t let her hear you talking shit like that,” Peter teases. “What’ll she tell her posh pureblood socialite friends?”

“I’m her shining star, Pete, don’t think my mother will lose any interest in me that easily,” Sirius counters. “Anyway, Halloween.”

By the end of dinner they’ve settled on a costume idea that actively involves all four of the and will require an irritating amount of sewing.

“This is a terrible idea,” Remus says after they’ve made it back to the dorm and are all lying on their respective beds, looking upwards and not speaking for a few minutes.

“You think all my ideas are terrible,” James complains. “When I come up with something that is a. complicated, b. innovative, and c. has never been done before, here you are insulting me. Name one other group of friends that’s about to try and pull something off like this.”

“The Beatles.”

“The _who_?”

“No, not The Who, the Beatles.” Peter snickers at his own jokes. “God, I’m hysterical.”

“Nice,” Remus acknowledges before deciding to critique Peter’s original statement. “Okay, but the Beatles would never do what we’re doing this year.”

“How do you know? Have you ever had a conversation with them?”

“Why would I ever want to speak to someone with that horrendous of an accent? Hearing Scouse makes me want to kill myself.”

“So you _haven’t_ had a conversation with them,” Peter replies triumphantly. “Someday I’m going to ask the Beatles who would be the head of the centaur.”

“I still think I should be the head,” Sirius says loudly, jumping into the conversation for the first time. “I don’t know who these bugs are –”

“Sirius, it’s not _beetles_ , it’s –”

“– but I know that, as the most attractive of the group, I should be the head.”

The room erupts in uproar at that.

“ _Most attractive_? Have you _seen_ me?”

“Shut up, James, you aren’t the most attractive either, you’re a gangly Quidditch fucker with the biggest hair I’ve ever seen in my _life_. If anyone’s the most attractive here, it’s me. I’m the darling of Yorkshire.”

“Sirius, look me in the eyes and tell me how you honestly think you can legitimately be considered the most attractive when your parents are _cousins_.”

Sirius sits up and throws his hands into the air. “They’re _second_ cousins, and they’re _removed_ to some degree, it’s not as though their parents are siblings! Look, James is a pureblood too, there’s no way his family tree isn’t as weird as mine is!”

“Hey, mate, I don’t think _anyone’s_ family tree is as weird as yours is,” James replies, trying and failing not to laugh his way through his sentence. “Your mum didn’t even have to change her last name.”

“Why are you acting like this is my fault?” Sirius nearly wails, falling backwards onto his bed dramatically. “I didn’t ask for this.”

Ultimately the lineup for all four of them trying to form a single centaur ends up as follows: Peter is the head because he’s the smallest and, as he insists, the most attractive with the most winning smile; he’s going to sit on Sirius' shoulders because the two of them can feasibly come up with a good height balance to match up with James and Remus' rapidly increasing heights; Remus is next in line as the centaur’s… middle legs, they aren’t really sure how they ended up with three pairs; and James has been relegated to his rightful place as the arse, which he is very vocally resentful of.

Halloween inches closer and closer and despite his friends’ anticipation of the feast and the costume contest and the inevitable shenanigans that will ensue, Remus can’t help but be more concerned about the impending moon. Last time was better than he was expecting, but it was in the middle of the week, and frankly, it’s getting harder and harder to explain that away. Remus is at least eighty percent sure that his friends are starting to suspect something, judging from their attempts at furtive glances towards each other when he brings up having to leave again and the fact that if they paid a little more attention in Astronomy, they’d probably know what was going on by now.

However, Remus thinks he can cut them some slack for not having figured it out already, despite the sheer obviousness of it all. They’ve been extremely busy in school lately, having to both finish four essays and be able to brew a Swelling Solution by the end of the week. Remus is actually quite grateful for their evenings being filled with research and revision; it’s making certain that his friends focus less on him and more on their studies, which makes things a thousand times easier. When Remus casually mentions that he has to go home before Halloween for a few days in the middle of one of their evening study sessions, his statement goes hardly acknowledged. All he gets in response is a slight hum from Sirius and an, “Okay, but make sure you’re back for the 31st, or the costume won’t work,” from James.

“Of course, how could I ever go without being a part of the horror show that is our joint costume,” Remus replies dryly, ducking out of the way as Peter subsequently throws a quill at him.

Despite James’ insistence that Remus be present for the planning and construction of the joint Halloween costume, Remus is forced to exit the scene about halfway through the process. To his surprise, he hasn’t really noticed the moon approaching, what with the intense focus on homework and revision and attempting to somehow sew what are essentially horse-foot boots for three of them. They’ve decided to run with the idea that their centaur has six legs, and Peter has taken to calling it a centaursect in honor of the number of legs that it seems to have.

“We’re going to get points deducted for having six legs.”

“James, there isn’t a point system. And I don’t know why you’re so bothered about this costume contest, we lost last year, it’s not as though we have a _streak_ of losing. It was only one time.”

“Look, we’ll have a streak if we lose _again_ , and that turns into a reputation issue. How are we supposed to come back from that?” James demands of an unconcerned Sirius.

Sirius shrugs. “I dunno. Plenty of people have lost and still had great costumes. Remember last year, when the Prewett twins went as Ogg?”

“I had to tell you that was Ogg, it wasn’t like you knew who they were going as,” Remus reminds him. Sirius rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply. “Anyway, I wont be here to make sure that you lot do this costume well, I’m out tonight.”

“Are you Floo-ing?” Peter asks nonchalantly. Almost too nonchalantly, if Remus can trust his slight paranoia.

“Yeah, it’s easiest,” Remus lies with startling fluidity, considering his friends have never actually asked him how he gets “home” before. He thinks he’s always just assumed that this is what _they_ were assuming. “Why would I do anything else?”

Peter shrugs as Remus stands. “I don’t know, I’ve just never asked. I thought I would.”

“Well, you’re right.”

There’s a slight pause, and Remus isn’t sure what to say or do next. He’s fairly certain if he thinks about the feeling he’s getting from his friends for too long it’ll make him spiral. He can’t spiral leading directly into the moon. That shit won’t fucking work out. Remus needs to get his shit together.

“Okay,” he says, and he hates that it’s coming out sounding so goddamn hesitant. “I have to go.”

“Be safe,” Sirius says lightly, like Sirius always does, in the same tone he always uses, using the same standard phrasing that he always does to say goodbye, before separations varying from going home for the summer or going for a piss. The fact that his tone is the same as it always is grounds Remus a little, making his spine relax slightly with the knowledge that at the very least, if they’re about to find out, he doesn’t think they’re about to hate him.

He hopes they’re not about to hate him. That thought overtakes his mind as he makes his way down to meet Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, and he starts to brace himself far in advance, just in anticipation of spending the rest of his life alone. He already spends his nights alone in the Shack once a month, what’s every night after that?

Maybe once his friends completely reject him and tell everyone that he’s a monster, Remus can convince Dumbledore to let him move into the Shack permanently. It would certainly be better than having to walk through the halls with everyone knowing exactly what kind of a freak he is.

No one knows yet, a small voice at the back of his head tells him. It’s okay, you just have to make sure it stays that way.

_Shut up_ , he replies viciously to the voice. _It won’t stay that way, you and I both know it_. The voice doesn’t deign to reply.

Remus doesn’t think the bouncing around of thoughts in his brain means anything; the small voice in the back of his head is just part of his thought processes. Everyone has that little voice telling them things to help them narrow down their choices or refine their critical thinking tactics. But once a month, as the moon approaches, Remus thinks he can almost feel another consciousness. He doesn’t want to say that the wolf is something like another personality, but in a way he feels as though it is, like it’s the worst parts of him come to life. The wolf is destructive and angry and _hungry_ in a way that goes so much deeper than the physical, and if he’s being completely honest with himself, Remus pushes the wolf away in the days leading up to the moon so much because he’s scared of it. He’s scared of what the wolf’s actions mean and if it smashed a mirror last moon says something about himself and that because he has absolutely no control over what the wolf decides to do, he can’t seem to figure out how to get a handle on the way it completely tears him apart from the inside out.

Sometimes he thinks that because he pushes the wolf away when he can feel it waking up and getting ready to burst out of him, the wolf is violent with him because it’s completely fucking furious. He doesn’t know what the rules are. Maybe the wolf doesn’t have to rip his stupid human body limb from limb every time the moon rolls around, maybe it could happen gracefully, like how it looks when Professor McGonagall transforms into a cat. If Remus' theory is correct, though, testing it would require letting the wolf make more of a home in his body and mind than it already has, and he isn’t willing to do that. Remus thinks he would rather let the wolf shred every nerve in his body every night for the rest of his life than have to succumb to it during the day as well.

He thinks about this as he makes his way to the willow, through the tunnel to the shack, to sitting on the now-dusty bed and watching the sunset through the pane-less window, knees tucked close to his chest and shoes kicked off on the floor by the bed. Madam Pomfrey had said she would come and get him in the morning. The sun has almost completely set, the light rapidly fading from the sky, which means Remus has maybe another half an hour before the moon makes its first cursed appearance. He can feel his bones aching with the oncoming shift, his skin feeling tight and dry, as though the wolf is coiled beneath it, getting ready to burst out.

Remus knows the drill. He takes off his clothes and sits back down on the bed and closes his eyes, waiting for the change to overtake him.

As always, the change starts slowly. It’s a prickling in his spine, a tingling in his hands and feet, a crawling sensation of something stuck in his throat. It’s just a feeling for a moment. Remus knows how it works by now. It’s slow for one, two, three, four, five heartbeats, and then it _cracks_ , and he thinks he knows acutely what it’s like to be turned inside out.

As much as Remus doesn’t remember about the moons, he wishes this was one of those things. He wishes that the pain was enough that he would black out from the first sharp blow, from the moment that his body is wracked with so much agony that he has to double over and he isn’t able to stop himself from crying out. But much to his dismay, by the time the next morning rolls around, he can remember nearly everything about his transformation.

He’ll try to put it out of his mind, but it never completely works. His father tells him that he needs to be able to face the hard things, otherwise he can never learn or grow from them. Remus thinks that would be pretty solid fucking advice, in ordinary circumstances, but let’s be real: Lyall Lupin has never had to give advice to his child who’s also a werewolf before giving that advice to Remus. That makes Remus feel less bad about not taking all of his father’s advice to heart. He doesn’t even try to face these particular hard things.

The moon tears him apart, as usual, as he expected, as he remembered would happen from last time. Remus catches glimpses of it through the pane-less window as his altogether so humanly fragile of a body is destroyed, and his last thought before his consciousness fades and he can feel the wolf taking over is that it would be quite an experience to be able to someday fully appreciate the beauty of a full moon.


	6. in which the insectaur lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. i am. so sorry. i know it's been like a month. believe me, i have been BUSY. also that bitch # mental illness has been impeding my creativity, and i'm sorry. but i am back with another chapter and i think i've gotten past the writer's block! this one is pretty fun and light and still longer than i was expecting. i hope it's enough to make up for the lack of content for a while :///
> 
> it's past midnight where i am but i promised my friends and my bf that i would post this before i went to sleep so. here i am. this is my gift to my son, peter pettigrew, on this, his canem birthday (technically it was yesterday at this point, but he's my summer solstice babey and i finished this chapter with him in mind). thank you thank you thank you if you do read this chapter and are wonderful enough to come back to cmaf even though it's been ages. stan ahmicb. i love u <3 
> 
> anyway i'm rambling. here's how to reach me.  
> twitter - gryffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

“I still think this idea’s rubbish,” Remus says, lying on his stomach on Sirius' bed and watching his friends struggle to figure out how to get their costume to work. 

“Maybe it would be a little less rubbish if you would help us get it put together,” Sirius replies, kneeling down facing away from the foot of Peter’s bed so that Peter, clad in only a pair of brown trousers that are meant to be the same color as the rest of their centaur’s horse body, can climb up and perch on his shoulders. 

“It’s always gonna be _rubbish_ ,  the centaur has  _six legs_!” 

“INSECTAUR!” Peter shouts almost immediately after he’s settled on Sirius' shoulders, causing Sirius to jerk in surprise and for their precarious structure to almost collapse. “That’s so much fucking better than centaursect, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before.” 

“I can’t believe you just  _shouted_ in my  _ear_.” 

“Sirius, stop being dramatic, my mouth is nowhere near your head. Unless my voice has suddenly decided to come out of my thighs, your ears are fine.” 

“You know what’s  _not_ fine?” James pipes up suddenly from underneath a massive gathering of shaggy fabric that will soon form the centaur’s body. “Forcing me to be the arse. Why would you do this to me?” 

Sirius shrugs with considerable difficulty, as Peter’s still sitting on his shoulders, but he thinks it’s worth the extra effort just to convey to James exactly how obvious the things he’s about to say are. “Plenty of reasons, you want me to list them?” 

“Why not,” James replies, throwing the fabric off of his head. “Maybe it’ll make me hate this a little less.” 

“Help me out here, lads, so far the reasons I have for James being the arse are: stubborn, hairy, smelly –” 

“Ugly,” Peter supplies. 

“Everything out of your mouth is hot air,” Remus adds, sitting up. 

“Nice,” Peter replies, tugging on Sirius’ hair in a way that indicates the direction he wants to go, and Sirius leans over slightly, bracing his hands on the posts on the end of his bed so that Peter can nearly topple over in an attempt to high-five Remus, who reluctantly reciprocates. 

“I’ve never been more insulted in the entirety of my short life,” James proclaims, throwing the shaggy fabric of the centaur body over his head as though in defiance. Sirius doesn’t think it’s a particularly effective strategy, as it makes it seem as though their teasing has convinced James to keep his position in the centaur’s body without complaint. 

“You know, James, that wasn’t the first time and it definitely won’t be the last,” Remus says. James’ hand emerges from within the fabric to flip Remus off before immediately disappearing again, amid laughs fro the other boys. 

By the time they finally make it downstairs for the costume contest and subsequent Halloween party, it’s taken them three tries to get down the stairs as a put together ensemble and this time they only make it down with James and Remus sliding down the stairs as though they’re sledding. Peter has to hold hands with Fabian Prewett, who has graciously taken on the responsibility of guiding them down the stairs, for support and balance while sitting on Sirius’ shoulders, legs clenching uncomfortably tight around Sirius’ head so as not to fall. 

“I swear, Pete, if you crush my head with your thighs, I’ll be a. extremely surprised, and b. insistent that you put that shit on my  _grave_ ,” Sirius manages as he takes the final step down the stairs and hears the telltale thuds behind him indicating that James and Remus have made it down as well. 

“I could never crush you, despite my extremely powerful thighs. I love you too much,” Peter replies. He directs his next response to Fabian, who has let go of his hands and has stepped away slightly apprehensively, as though he’s not sure if he should jump back in to help the rest of them out. “Thank you, Fabian, you’re an angel.” 

Gryffindor parties move at the pace they always do when you’re twelve years old and the seventh years guarding the alcohol don’t let you within ten feet until you’re at least nearing the end of your third year: like you’re caught in the eye of a hurricane. Everything around Sirius is moving at a breakneck speed of  _go, go, go_ and what he wouldn’t give to reach the same velocity as the rest of the room. It isn’t even about the just out of reach effect the alcohol would have on him, no, he thinks it’s about reaching a new level of  _belonging_. 

Maybe he’s self-centered – he's been told from birth that he’s a  _star_ , and that by its basest definition tells him that things are meant to revolve around him – but Sirius looks at the party around him and wants nothing more than to be completely immersed in it, to the point where he’s the one breathing life into it. 

Now, though, his shoulders are already aching from Peter sitting on him and he’s being urged forward into the center of the room by Remus poking him in the spine, so Sirius lets his dreams of grandeur in the Gryffindor party scene be set on the back burner to focus more on the matter at hand: winning the goddamn costume contest. 

“O-okay, I guess we’re starting,” a tall seventh year, who Sirius identifies as the prefect who yelled at him last week for sliding down the hall in his socks, says, looking the boys up and down as they inch slowly to the center. Peter is tugging on Sirius’ hair as though that’ll make him go faster and Sirius can hear James’ steady, swear-filled grumbling from under the blanket as, step by step, they trundle through the room like a precarious, swaying train. 

“I feel like an imbecile, an utter  _buffoon_ ,” Peter says under his breath, only loud enough that Sirius and possibly Remus can hear him. “We didn’t even put any vegetation in my hair, how am I supposed to look like a majestic forest prince now?” 

“Tell him he doesn’t look like a prince but if it makes him feel better he looks like a twat,” Remus says, somewhere around Sirius’ shoulder. 

“I’m not telling him that, you tell him that.” 

“Well, I would have to shout, and I don’t want everyone  _else_  to hear me.” 

“What are you guys talking about?” James’ muffled voice from the back of the horse body says. 

“Wait, shut up, we’re here,” Peter says from above Sirius’ shoulders. “Also, people are staring.” 

After a few moments, everyone who’s decided to actually put their efforts for a costume contest seems to be gathered in the center of the room. “Okay,” the seventh year prefect says, looking as though he very much regrets volunteering to direct the costume contest. “Everyone line up over here and tell me what you are and I'll announce it.” 

“What, can you not tell?” Sirius asks indignantly. 

“No, I... honestly can’t,” the prefect replies, looking at their conglomeration of body parts in distaste. The rest of the House has started to pay attention, forming a sort of large semi-circle so that there’s enough space for the people willing to showcase their costumes to step forward and display them. 

“Well, we’re an insectaur,” Peter says proudly. “As you can see, we aren’t a normal centaur. We have six legs.” 

“And refer to yourself using plural pronouns, apparently,” the prefect sighs. “Okay, let’s get this over with. What are your names?” 

They rattle off their names as quickly as they can, Sirius shifting his weight from leg to leg so that his spine doesn’t fucking collapse under the pressure of holding Peter on his shoulders for what feels like has already been at least eight days. It isn’t that Peter is particularly heavy – in fact, he’s pretty short for his age and on the skinnier side – but conversely, Sirius isn’t particularly  _strong,_ either. He should never have agreed to be the front legs. He knows it’s just because he and Peter are both short and it seems to be working out proportionally with Remus and James as the... second and third sets of legs, but Sirius thinks he has never had to endure anything as hellish as this before in his life. How could they think he could carry Peter on his fucking shoulders for this long? He's  _twelve_. 

Almost thirteen. But that’s a technicality. Sirius has seen photos of Muggle medical books, his father likes to study them in his spare time. He thinks it’s funny how archaic their methods are. Either way, Sirius is aware of what human spines are meant to look like, and he’s _one thousand percent_ certain that his no longer looks like that. It's alright. He's resigned to his life as a hunchback as long as they win the costume contest. 

If they  _don’t_ win, though... Sirius makes a mental note to milk this back pain for as long as he can in revenge for being forced to be the entire support of the system. And James really thought he drew the short straw when he was assigned the arse. 

The prefect points his wand at his throat and says, “ _Sonorus_. Okay, uh, this is an interesting one. Starting us off, we have Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and James Potter as an  _insectaur_. Please don’t ask me what it is, I don’t know and I don’t particularly want to.” 

The boys lurch out into the open space, moving in the same generalized motion as a Conga Line would, but about a million times slower, as two of them can’t see and Sirius is hyper-aware of moving too quickly and making Peter fall over. 

There's a moment where the only reaction from the rest of the common room is slight murmuring, before Peter throws his hands in the air – nearly knocking Sirius off-balance – and shouts, “Merlin’s cock, we worked  _hard_ on this!” 

There's an appreciative whoop from the other side of the room at Peter’s outburst, and the rest of the room breaks out in laughter afterwards, resulting in some steady applause. The clapping and the cheering increases as they circle the open space precariously and Peter poses like a body builder even though he’s a preteen with arms roughly the size of celery sticks. His bones are still made from lead, and Sirius is still dying, but at least the crowd seems to be enjoying their display. 

They make their way back behind the rest of the contestants, disassembling while waiting for the rest of the costumes to be announced. Sirius doesn’t pay attention to most of them; there’s at least four House Elves, a ghost that’s just a sheet covering the student’s head (it’s a Gryffindor House sheet, so it’s red and doesn’t exactly have the same effect), someone who literally tried to Transfigure themselves into a hippogriff and ended up being just a sort of bizarre feathered version of themselves, and a surprisingly good Nearly-Headless Nick. He’s just beginning to think that Nearly-Headless Nick might be their only real competition as they’ve been backed by Sir Nicholas himself, when the prefect running the show, who seems to be having a much better time now, clears his throat, his voice still magically magnified, and gets everyone’s attention again. 

“Alright, and in a bizarre twist, I didn’t even realize these students were wearing costumes until they came up and told me that they were entering the contest. I think having them go last is a fitting end to his display, it kind of brings us full circle, doesn’t it? That's a rhetorical question. You don’t know what they’re dressed as.” 

“What were the first people dressed as?” a voice calls from the crowd. “I forgot.” 

“Okay, fine, the first people were –" the prefect pauses to consult his list, “Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and James Potter as a centaur with six legs, or an insectaur. Take a good look at them.” Sirius waves at the crowds. “So, now that everyone here remembers the first participants, here are the  _last_  participants.” 

The prefect waves a hand vaguely at four students to his left and Sirius is at first confused. His confusion is quickly replaced by an odd mixture of indignation and the overwhelming pressure of a laugh trying to burst out of his mouth. 

“So, we have Lily Evans as Sirius Black –" 

Sirius' jaw drops as Lily practically _prances_  into the open space, wearing a wig of messy dark curls that look just enough like Sirius’ to cause shouts of recognition from the crowd, a Gryffindor scarf thrown around her neck. She stops in the center of the semi-circle, makes a motion with her hands indicating that the crowd needs to settle down, and says in an absolutely  _ridiculously_ posh voice, “Hello, I'm Sirius Black, and I'm the prettiest pureblood in the country. I have the best hair and the most winning smile that you’ve probably ever seen, and while I only have three close friends, I'm clearly the most popular boy in school! I'm also rich, very good at magic, and will probably never have to have a job in my life. Thank you.” 

“Do I sound like that?” Sirius asks as the common room erupts in applause and Lily takes a bow. 

“Oh, she did a fucking _killer_ impression,” Remus replies from his seat next to Sirius. “The inflections were great. Also, she sounded like a posh cunt. Got your accent down pat.” 

At that moment, Marlene pushes her way past the seventh year prefect doing the announcements, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a thick jumper with the sleeves rolled up, her hair twisted in a way on top of her head meant to mimic a short curly cut, holding what looks like a cherry lolly between two of her fingers on her right hand as though it’s a cigarette. She stops in front of the audience, screams, “FUCK OFF!” at them in a truly terrible Welsh accent until they stop laughing, which takes a solid three minutes, before pulling off her sunglasses and starting a speech. 

“What up, cunts, I'm your main bitch Remus Lupin. I'm from Wales and I already fucked all the bitches and sheep there so that’s why I had to go to a different country to go to school. I'm the sickest, smartest motherfucker you’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting. I’m so cool that I skip school once a month and have the teachers convinced that I'm going home to see my –” Marlene pauses to do exaggerated finger quotes, “–  _sick mum_ , but really, I go out on the town to fuck shit up and for some reason, I haven’t thought to invite Marlene McKinnon yet. Shame.” Marlene puts her sunglasses on the top of her head, turns around and blows Remus an exaggerated kiss before taking a bow and stepping back from the crowd, which is positively roaring at this point. 

“Marlene McKinnon as Remus Lupin,” the prefect adds unnecessarily. He looks over his shoulder. “Mary MacDonald as Peter Pettigrew.” 

Mary's version of Peter is surprisingly true to life, except she’s wearing a chef’s hat and holding a stuffed chicken under her arm. “You know, I'm not mad at this,” Peter calls before she even says anything. 

“I mean, you shouldn’t be, we weren’t even trying to make fun of  _you_ ,” she replies. 

“Oh, really? I'm honored.” 

“You’re the best one, Pete,” Marlene interjects, still in the Welsh accent, giving Peter a finger gun. 

“That’s a shitty accent,” Remus says. 

“Yeah, I know, it must suck being Welsh.” 

“Welsh accents in  _general_ aren’t shitty,  _yours_ is!” 

Marlene pops the lolly in her mouth and flicks her sunglasses down from where they’d been resting on top of her head. “Whatever you say, sheep shagger.” Remus flips her off in response. 

Although Mary’s depiction of Peter is the most accurate generally kindest out of all of the interpretations so far, Sirius thinks that might be why it’s garnered the least enthusiastic cheers. Everyone seems to have collectively come to the decision that out of the four boys, Peter is the only one who’s going to be spared from what has become a ridicule session in the common room. 

“I can’t believe I'm last,” James begins to complain, just as the prefect clears his throat again for silence. The sound of that is really starting to grate on Sirius’ nerves, but he decides not to focus on that for the time being. 

“Alright, last but  _certainly_ not least, we have Dorcas  Meadowes  as James Potter!” The prefect puts a little pep into his words in that last sentence, and as though she’s riding on the already positive high of such a stellar introduction, Dorcas runs into the open space from the almost backstage area with the previous contestants, amid cheers from the crowd, wearing massive, thick, round glasses and a too-large Gryffindor Quidditch jersey with the name  _Potter_ haphazardly stitched across the back, as though to emphasize how very clear it is to everyone that James isn’t actually on the team. Her dark hair is already cut right around her shoulders, but instead of getting a wig like Lily and Mary had, Dorcas’ hair has been teased and tousled to the point of sticking every which way in wild tufts. 

She reaches the front of the room, points at her head and shouts, “Sleekeazy’s, baby!” in lieu of a speech. 

Sirius looks over at James, expecting an indignant reaction, given how much James has been complaining today. Instead, the other boy just tilts his head to the side, scrunching up his mouth in a kind of approving expression. 

“You know what, it’s not bad,” he says in a surprised tone. 

It's almost insulting by how much the girls win in the costume contest. Sirius had thought it wasn’t even going to be an issue, considering they’re all second years and no one would really understand the jokes that the girls were telling and no one knew the boys enough to get why it was funny anyway. Maybe that’s just something he’s telling himself to make himself feel better about the fact that they got  _third fucking place_ in the contest. 

Sirius can’t believe they lost to both the girls _and_  Nearly Headless Nick. 

“We skipped the feast. For this,” Remus says later that night up in the dorm, when they’re sitting around their third place winnings – a rather good-sized chocolate bar from Honeydukes – and breaking off pieces to chuck at each other rather than just eating it themselves. “All for one bar of chocolate that isn't even that good.” 

“First of all, your taste buds are broken. Second, if we had  _won_ , like  _someone_ assured us we would,” Peter pauses to glare at James, who mumbles something unintelligible around a mouthful of chocolate, “we’d have twenty Galleons to split between us.” 

“What are we gonna get with four Galleons each? That's shit.” 

“Okay, Sirius, not all of us grew up sleeping on mattresses made of money,” Remus replies. 

James swallows. “We could’ve pooled it and gotten something good that we could all use.” 

“Like what?” Peter asks. 

“I don’t know, bouncy shoes or something? I saw an advert for that in the Daily Prophet last week.” 

“You don’t read the Daily Prophet, you barely read things you’re _required_ to for your  _education_!” 

“Look, Pete, someone else was reading it at breakfast! I was bored, so I read the back! Is that a _crime_?” 

“My birthday’s in three days,” Sirius interjects, cutting across the bickering. “We can get something with my birthday money.” 

There's a slight pause as they consider that. 

“Let’s get Snape some shampoo,” James suggests. Remus shoves him and he falls over. 


	7. in which the boys have some bad ideas and sirius becomes a teen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's taking a lot longer than i was expecting for certain plot points to happen, so i keep having to break up the chapters as they keep getting really long without me intending for that to happen. anyway i hope u like this! as always thank u to everyone who leaves comments and kudos. it means a lot to me and i really appreciate it, even though more often than not i forget to reply to them. i love you all though!!!
> 
> twitter - gryffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

Before any of them really know what’s happening, it’s November. Logically, that would be the next step in the calendar, seeing as yesterday was Halloween, but Sirius is somewhat surprised that the year is passing so quickly. There's a snap to the air now, a crispness that fills something inside of him when he takes a deep breath. Sirius gets this feeling every year around this time, and at this point in his short life, he knows that it means his favorite time of year is approaching. 

He's always been a fan of the last three months of the calendar year, ever since he was little. Sirius thinks it might be because of all the parties that his mum throws during this time, and he’s a little – maybe closer to a  _lot_  - disgruntled that he isn’t home to participate in them this year. He didn’t really notice it last year, maybe because he was too busy getting acclimated to his new friends and his new environment and the hustle and bustle of just  _being,_ but this year he feels like there’s a little empty spot just behind his heart. 

At least, Sirius thinks, the smell of the autumn air on the first few days of November does a little to fill that hole. 

Besides, he doesn’t have time to mope around and be sad that he can’t spend quality time with his mum this year, he has things to do. Sirius is about to hit a milestone of life; his thirteenth birthday is rapidly approaching and, as the oldest of his friends, he figures that it might be important to set the tone for what kind of event birthdays are going to have to be for them going forward. 

“What are we doing for your birthday?” James asks on the morning of the first of November, as though Sirius has started thinking about it yet. 

“I dunno,” Sirius replies around a mouthful of toast. “My parents haven’t sent my birthday money yet, so it isn’t as though we can really make a solid plan.” 

“Question,” Peter interjects, pointing a spoon at Sirius quickly. A drop of tea flies off of it, as Peter’s made the somewhat ill-conceived decision to pull it immediately out of his cup as he was stirring and point it for emphasis. “I don’t really know if this is rude to ask, but how much do they send? If it’s a lot, we could go to Disneyland.” 

“Disneyland?” Remus asks, slightly incredulously. “Why the fuck would  _Disneyland_  be your first instinct?” 

“I don’t know! I've never been! What's wrong with Disneyland?” 

Remus holds out his hand in preparation to tick off the reasons why Disneyland is a bad idea on his fingers. “One, we’re in school, how are we going to sneak off and go to Disneyland? Two, how much fucking money do you think Sirius’ parents are going to send him? It would take at least four hundred Galleons for us to be able to travel there and have a place to stay, much less even get into the park.” 

“They’re rich.” 

“Okay, yeah, but they’re not about to drop four hundred Galleons on me for my birthday,” Sirius counters. “I’m turning thirteen, not twenty-one.” 

“What’s the significance of being twenty-one?” James asks. 

Sirius shrugs. “I get access to the family accounts then.” 

“ _The family accounts_? God, you’re so rich.” 

“That’s - do your parents not have joint bank accounts?” 

“No, they’re not legally married, that’s not allowed,” Peter counters. “Why would they have a joint bank account?” 

“Ease of access? I don’t know, I don’t know anything about finances.” 

“I didn’t even get to finish my list of reasons why going to Disneyland is a shit idea,” Remus says in a disappointed tone. “That shows how much you care about what I have to say, doesn’t it, Pete?” 

“I’m sorry, Remus, please continue, you have my undivided attention,” Peter replies, turning to look intently at Remus with his chin resting in his hand, elbows propped up on the table. “I’m ready to listen to you insult my ideas.” 

“Okay, well, it took so long for me to be able to get back to this topic that I  _forgot,_ okay?” 

“In any case,” Sirius interjects, holding his hands out across the table, “they’re not sending me four hundred Galleons, so we’ll have to come up with another plan.” 

Sirius is right. His parents don’t send him  _four_ hundred Galleons. They send him two. 

“Merlin’s _arse_ ,” Peter says eloquently after their classes are over on Sirius’ birthday, when they’re counting the bag of coins that one of the family owls had dropped off unceremoniously on his thankfully still empty plate during breakfast, shitting on James’ head as it had flown away. “I knew you were rich but I was kidding about getting multiple hundreds of Galleons for your birthday.” 

Sirius shrugs. “It’s normally closer to fifty. I didn’t read the note.” 

Remus reaches over and snatches it from where it had been tied to the strings of the bag. “ _To my favorite nephew on his thirteenth birthday – don't spend it all at once. Uncle Alphard_. That was nice of him.” He peers at the letter for another moment before adding, “Oh, there’s a P.S. -  _Fifty of this is from your parents, the rest is from me. Also, don’t tell your brother how I addressed this. He kicked me in the shin once and I'm still afraid of him_. Wow.” 

“Wow what?” Sirius asks, dumping the bag out on the floor of the common room. The four of them are sitting cross-legged in a circle, close enough together that their knees are all touching, so none of the coins bounce or roll away. He immediately starts sorting it into stacks of ten. “The amount?” 

“Well, yeah, but I was talking about the fact that your brother kicked your uncle in the shin? And he’s still afraid of him? How long ago was this?” 

“I dunno. I think Reg was pretty young, like five or something. He had a really bad temper then.” 

“He sounds like a nightmare, I can’t wait to meet him,” James says, cutting into the conversation. “So the question is, what are we going to do with all of this?” 

Sirius doesn’t answer James’ question right away, instead leaning over in an attempt to see the letter that Remus is still holding. “Was there anything in there from my mum?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Remus pulls a little folded envelope from within the folds of the larger letter and hands it to Sirius. “It’s sealed, so.” 

Sirius lets his friends work on sorting and counting their pile of Galleons and takes a moment to read the letter. 

_Sirius, my darling boy,_  

_On this day, thirteen years ago, you changed my life forever. You were three weeks earlier and several decibels louder than I was expecting you to be, but I wouldn’t change anything about that day or the years following it for the world. You are my shining star and I know in my heart of hearts that you’re meant for great things. I am so incredibly proud of everything that you are and I hope that this, your thirteenth birthday, is wonderful in every way._  

_Your father and I have enclosed some spending money for your birthday if you decide you want to do something with your friends. I know you aren’t allowed to leave the school grounds and go to the village until next year, but perhaps an older classmate could run an errand for you? Either way, I'm sure you’ll find some kind of mischief to get into. Your uncle Alphard told me he would send this with his gift for you – no doubt he’s sent something extravagant. Please make sure to write him a thank you note and try to be good._  

_Have a fantastic birthday, my angel. We are missing you and cannot wait to see you for Christmas._  

_Love, Mother_

“What does it say?” Peter asks as Sirius folds up the letter and tucks it inside the pocket of his robes. 

“Nothing much. Regular birthday stuff,” Sirius replies, the lump in his throat telling him that as much as he thinks he’s managed to act as though he doesn’t miss his mum, he might be failing right now. “Anyway, priorities. What are we going to do with this?” 

Remus snorts. “Where the fuck are we going to spend money? We can’t leave the castle. We don’t even have a shop on the grounds that we can get anything from.” 

“We could see if the trolley lady is around somewhere, she sells things to us.” 

“What, James, do you think she lives on the train? Also, we aren’t going to spend  _two hundred Galleons_ on sweets alone when we could be spending it on something actually good.” 

“The sweets that she has on the trolley  _are_  good! Anyway, I don’t see you coming up with any ideas.” 

Sirius has been quiet for a moment, but he speaks up then, saying, “We could go to the village.” 

“What, Hogsmeade?” Peter asks, looking up from the stacks of coins that he’s been spending the last five minutes straightening to an unnecessary extent. “How are we supposed to get out of the castle?” 

Sirius shrugs. “I dunno. But it’s Friday and the calendar says that it’s a Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow, so if we figure out how to sneak out, we can do something there.” 

“Sneak out? How?” 

They end up formulating several possible, loose, shaky, shitty plans. 

Plan one: everyone sneaks out of the castle lumped into the groups of the older student who are actually allowed to go to Hogsmeade, hidden under James’ Invisibility Cloak. Ultimately, they decide that this one has too many potential variables and that because of all the possibilities of getting caught – including but not limited to someone running into them, stepping on the cloak, leaving footprints, some kind of magical alert system, or McGonagall having sharp eyes – this one sucks. 

Plan two: they try and convince a teacher to let them go out to the village, using the tactic that it’s Sirius’  _birthday_ and they’ll be perfectly behaved and they just want to go to  Honeydukes  and the Three Broomsticks. This one is thrown out because if they fail to convince a random teacher, they’ll be forced to go to their Head of House, and Sirius knows there’s no way in  _hell_ that McGonagall will allow it, and subsequently she’ll be on alert for them trying to sneak out on all future Hogsmeade weekends. 

Plan three (which seems to be the riskiest and also the most adventurous out of all of them): this one hinges on the validity of a conversation that Peter had overheard between a pair of Ravenclaw fifth years last month, mentioning a certain passageway leading to the cellar of Honeydukes that can supposedly be accessed through the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor. 

“The thing is, I didn’t hear how we  _open_  the passageway,” Peter explains,  a  bit further into the evening. They've moved up to their dorm, sitting in the same circular position on the floor, only this time they’re in their pajamas and Peter’s been trying to write out notes for their possible plans for the past hour. Two birthday cakes sit, half-eaten, on the floor as well. James and Peter had retrieved them from the kitchen after dinner and presented them to Sirius with a song (Remus had been the one assigned the unfortunately involved task of keeping Sirius from leaving the common room before they came back) and the little tidbit of information that this year there were two cakes because  _there’s one for every year we’ve known each other_.  

James waves a hand through the air. “We’ll figure it out. How many spells can there be to open up a witch statue?” 

“Yeah, just  _Reducto_  that shit,” Sirius supplies. 

“You idiot, we’re trying not to get  _caught_ , blowing the statue to bits would be a pretty clear sign that something was up and there was, you know, a way to follow us,” Peter retorts. 

“Plus, it might be something that has to do with only being able to access the passage through a spell,” Remus muses. “Like, if we smashed the statue, there’s a chance that we still might not be able to see the passage, just a load of rocks.” 

“So we either need to try a bunch of different spells or find out what the  _actual_  spell is,” Sirius says. “We don’t know a lot of spells.” 

“We don’t know a lot of Ravenclaw fifth years, either,” James replies. 

“We know, like, one Ravenclaw,” Peter begins. “James, you could –" 

“No,” James snaps before Peter has the chance to continue. “I’m not going to Ravenclaw Tower to fall on my knees and beg Conor fuckass Vance to talk to some fifth years and get the spell for us.” 

There's a pause. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Sirius says, standing. “What time is it?” 

Remus, frowning, looks at his watch. “Ten to eight.” 

“Oh, nice, it’s earlier than I thought. We don’t even have to sneak, curfew isn’t until ten.” Sirius sheds his pajama pants in favor of a pair of jeans – he doesn’t know who exactly they belong to, as they were just the first pair he grabbed and they’re a fair amount too long for him – and pulls on a Gryffindor cardigan. “Who’s coming with me?” 

“Are those my trousers?” Remus asks, tilting his head. “I’ll go with you, but now I have to go looking for a new pair.” 

Once Remus manages to find a new pair of trousers (they’re James’, who is resolutely refusing to go and thus stays in the dorm by himself) and Peter gets dressed as well, the three of them wander through the castle, getting slightly lost, until they find themselves on the other side and start seeing a bit more noticeable blue hues in the décor, indicating that they’re going the right way. 

Eventually, after a whole fuckload of stairs and a lot of swearing, they come to a door with absolutely no distinguishing marks other than a knocker in the shape of an eagle. 

“There’s no knob,” Peter says unnecessarily. 

Sirius, wheezing from the stairs, can only look at him in an expression that he hopes properly conveys how superfluous that statement was. 

“I guess we knock,” Remus says, and reaches up to grab the knocker. 

A clear voice comes from nowhere that Sirius can pinpoint and asks, “What gets wetter the more it dries?” 

“Do we have to –" Sirius begins. 

“Your mum!” Peter bursts out, giggling. 

Remus and Sirius similarly dissolve into laughter, not noticing when the knocker replies, “Not quite,” and falls silent again. 

Once they all finally stop laughing enough to focus on trying to solve a riddle when they’ve been eating sugary foods for hours and are preteens with, Sirius thinks, pretty shitty cognitive ability at times, Remus reaches up and knocks again. 

“What is always coming but never arrives?” 

Peter smacks a hand over his mouth to keep from blurting out the same answer as before. 

“Uh...” Remus says, turning to Sirius as though he knows any more than Remus does, a blank expression on his face. 

“It’s tomorrow,” a voice from behind them says, and Sirius turns around to see the very person they’d been going to Ravenclaw Tower to try and see, Conor Vance himself. 

“Well done,” the knocker says, and the door swings open. 

“Hi, Conor,” Sirius interjects, before anyone else says anything. 

“Hi, Sirius,” Conor replies. “Were you looking for something?” 

“You, actually.” Sirius clears his throat and kicks against the ground lightly, looking down as he does. “Uh, this is kind of a weird request.” 

Conor raises his eyebrows, and Sirius gets the distinct impression that he’s trying his hardest not to laugh, but that he’s still genuinely interested in what they have to say. “Do you want to come in?” 

“Oh! Sure.” 

Conor holds the door open for all of them and leads them over to the couches in the Ravenclaw common room. Sirius has, of course, never been in here before, but something about the way the room is designed makes him feel like he’s among the clouds. Gryffindor Tower is all warm reds and browns and if it was an element it would be fire; Ravenclaw is variations of soft and deep blues with accents of bronze. It's the air to Gryffindor’s fire. 

Sirius thinks that’s oddly poetic of him as he sits down on the sofa next to Conor. Peter and Remus have taken the spots on the sofa opposite them, and Sirius feels strangely like this is some kind of business proposal. The common room is quiet, seemingly uncharacteristically so for a Friday night. Perhaps Sirius has just grown used to the clamor of the Gryffindor common room, but the constant chatter and noise happening in  _his_  tower makes him feel out of place here. 

Conor seems to be trying to remedy that, sitting on the sofa with an open, easy smile on his face, as though he’s taken note of how his parents would play host and is doing his best to emulate that. “What can I do for you, Gryffs?” he asks, looking between them and waiting for elaboration on Sirius’ so-called weird request. 

“We, uh,” Sirius begins. “Do you know a couple of fifth years who might know how to get into the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor?” 

“ _Into_  the witch?” 

“Uh. Yes.” 

There's a moment of pause, as though Conor is thinking about how to best respond to their request. “Okay... why exactly would you need to know how to get into the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor?” 

“I heard that there’s a tunnel underneath that leads to the cellar of Honeydukes,” Peter answers. “Sirius got a bunch of money for his birthday and we wanted to go spend it in Hogsmeade, but we can’t go anywhere until third year, so there really isn’t a point until then unless we can sneak out.” 

“Well,” Conor says slowly. “Today’s your lucky day.” 

“And why would that be?” Remus asks, somewhat skeptically. Conor grins. 


	8. in which conor proves his worth and james returns to his conspiracies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot is # progressing :o
> 
> special thank you to jemhowling on twt - you literally made my day today with your updates on ahmicb, it means the world to me that you took the time out of your day to let me know that you liked my writing and my character development.
> 
> consistent shoutouts as usual to the jarauders and to jamie especially. i love u.
> 
> thank you to everyone who continues to read this. please don't think your comments and kudos go unnoticed. i see all of them and they mean the world to me. sometimes (often) i don't reply because i'm busy and i forget, but they're very important to me and they motivate me to keep going. i love you all.
> 
> twitter - gryffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

“No,” James says emphatically when they make it back to the dorm about fifteen minutes later, laden with the knowledge of a plan that they’d already known would get this response. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.” 

“Your grudge against Conor is stupid, you’ve spoken to him like once,” Remus replies, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. “He knows how to get into the passage, he just wants to go with us.” 

“Well, maybe I don’t  _want_ him to go with us,” James snaps, crossing his arms like he’s a sulking four-year-old. “He isn’t our friend.” 

“What, are we only allowed to have three friends?” Peter asks. “I didn’t realize that. Better stop talking to anyone who isn’t in this room.” 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” James replies, standing up from where he’d been sitting on his bed. He kind of makes a little circular walking motion, as though he was going to pace somewhere, but changed his mind and ended up just traveling in a tiny loop that looks more as though he just spun around. James pauses for a moment, looking frustrated, then kicks one of the posts on his bed. 

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Are you okay?” 

James doesn’t answer for a minute. “You’re not allowed to  _replace_ me, okay?” 

“Replace you? With what?” 

“With  _who._ With  _Conor_. You can’t replace me with Conor, he’s stupid and I'm more fun than he is.” 

Remus snorts. “Why would we replace you with Conor? He doesn’t live here. That's the whole reason we’re friends, we live together. It would just be a big inconvenience to have to go all the way to Ravenclaw if we wanted to hang out without you here.” 

“You would want to hang out without me?” James asks, sounding absolutely devastated. 

“James, I'm kidding,” Remus replies gently, and James relaxes a little. “Have you always been this insecure?” 

“I’m not insecure! I'm the peak of self-confidence! Have you  _seen_ me?” 

“Yeah, and if I looked like that, I would be insecure too.” 

James throws a shoe at Remus. “Shut the fuck up.” 

It takes a bit more convincing, but eventually James is on board with including Conor in their – for lack of a better word – heist. It isn’t as though he has an issue with the heist  _itself_ ; the convincing is only due to Conor’s involvement. Nevertheless, despite James’ misgivings, the four of them are standing by the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor late Saturday morning, waiting for Conor to show up.  

“Did he even say how he knows this?” James grumbles. “What if he’s bullshitting us?” 

“James, shut up,” Peter replies, exasperated. 

“Yeah, James, shut up,” comes a voice from down the hall that absolutely does not belong to Conor. 

Peter, against the wall, leans out around Sirius to see Marlene and Dorcas walking down the hall at a leisurely pace. Judging from their direction, it looks as though they’re heading back to the common room. 

“What are you doing here?” Sirius asks in a defensive tone. 

“We could ask you the same thing,” Dorcas replies, eyebrows raised. “You want to tell us why you’re loitering around a statue at eleven o’clock on a Saturday when, judging from your entire history of being alive, your pattern is spending every second of your time fucking around?” 

James scrunches his eyebrows. “Okay, you didn’t have to be so harsh.” 

“I wasn’t being harsh, I was being  _truthful_.” 

“She was,” Marlene agrees, unnecessarily. “You’re always fucking around.” 

“So I came to the right place then,” Conor’s voice finally says, and Peter cranes his neck around even farther to see Conor approaching from the same direction that Marlene and Dorcas had come from. “I didn’t realize that we were allowed to bring guests, I would’ve asked Emmie if she wanted to come.” 

“Who?” Remus asks. No one answers him. 

“We aren’t bringing  _guests_ ,” James snaps, narrowing his eyes. The effect is slightly diminished by his glasses, but Peter can see it from where he’s standing. Apparently Conor can too, as he raises his eyebrows slightly at James in what looks like skepticism. “The girls just showed up, we didn’t ask them here.” 

“Wow, harsh, Potter, shows how much you care about us,” Marlene replies in mock offense, placing her hand over her heart to emphasize it. 

“Look, McKinnon, you weren’t invited. Neither was Vance, come to think of it. We didn’t ask him, he just shoved his way in.” 

“Mate, you’re disproportionately upset about this,” Sirius says under his breath, but James ignores him. 

“Invited to  _what_?” Dorcas asks, looking around between the boys as though any of them are inclined to be forthcoming. “Are you sneaking out?” 

“No,” Peter says, far too quickly. “Why would we sneak out?” 

Marlene points. “I dunno, maybe the massive bag of coins Sirius is trying and failing to hide behind his back is an indicator.” 

“Shut up, Marlene! Maybe I just carry this with me for safekeeping!” 

“You’re not that responsible!” 

“How do you know? I'm thirteen now, maybe I've matured in my old age!” 

“Okay, everyone shut up,” Remus interjects, physically stepping into the middle of the group with his hands up. “It’s over, too many people are in on this.” He turns to his friends. “Either we give them a cut, or we cancel everything.” 

James doesn’t say anything for a minute, but he’s the first out of the boys to do so, eventually shrugging and replying, “I’d rather have them in on it than Conor fucking Vance, so. Sure.” 

“Hey,” Conor protests. 

James shrugs. “It’s just the truth.” 

Sirius looks down at his bag of money as though he’s contemplating exactly how much he’ll have to give to people who aren’t his close friends now, and after a moment, seeming to have a thought of  _fuck it_ , he leans around Remus to say to the girls, “You keep quiet about this and watch for people coming, and we’ll bring you shit from Honeydukes.” 

“Honeydukes?” Marlene asks skeptically. “How the fuck are you getting shit from Honeydukes?” 

“Well, not just Honeyd –" James begins, cutting off mid-word as Peter elbows him. Fortunately, the girls don’t seem to notice James’ careless verbal additions. For as much as James doesn’t seem to want to include anyone other than the four of them in their little heist, he sure seems to have difficulty keeping his mouth shut about it, Peter thinks ruefully. 

“I can’t tell you how,” Sirius says to Marlene. “Not until you agree.” 

“Agree to what?” 

“To keeping your mouth shut. To covering for us. The works.” 

Marlene surveys the group in front of her for a moment, eyes lingering on the bag of coins and the way James is shifting his weight from foot to foot too often to go unnoticed and the fact that Conor is even  _there_ , before glancing at Dorcas and saying, “Yeah, okay.” 

Surprised that she’d agreed so easily, Sirius just blinks for a second before saying, “Oh! Okay,” and launching into an explanation. 

Once he’s done, the girls seem to accept this easily enough, giving them orders for what they want from Honeydukes, Peter writing it down on a spare piece of parchment in case anyone forgets. 

“Are we finally ready, then?” Conor asks, leaning against the statue. She's surprisingly tall, so he has to clamber up on the base to reach the top. “Alright, pay attention, class.” 

“Do we really have to go in through the top?” Peter asks, frowning. “Some of us are short.” 

“Don’t worry, Pete, I'll give you a boost,” James replies. 

“Oh, I'm not thinking about myself, I'm just really concerned as to how Sirius is going to manage to get up there.” 

“Pete, I –" Sirius begins, sounding exasperated. “I’m sharing my hard-earned money with you, and taking you on a field trip out of the goodness of my heart, and you’re  _insulting_ me? In what world did you think that would go over well?” 

“It isn’t  _your_  hard-earned money, it’s your parents’! And they didn’t even have a hard time earning it, their whole job is just to be rich!” 

“Hey!” Conor shouts from the top of the statue. “Dipshits! Do you want to go or not?” 

“I’m listening!” Sirius shouts back, looking up. “Please continue.” 

Conor rolls his eyes, pulls out his wand, taps the hump of the witch, says, “ _Dissendium_ ,” and the hump – along with a large portion of the witch’s back – swings open like it’s on a hinge. 

Remus lets out a little  _huh_ in acknowledgement of what happened. “Impressive.” 

“Thanks,” Conor replies, flashing a cocky grin at his audience. “Is everyone coming?” Without really waiting for a response, he climbs into the tunnel. 

No one moves for a second until Peter shrugs and says, “Let’s go, then,” and climbs up the statue after Conor. 

Before long, with the promise of the girls keeping an eye out for teachers and the sudden, unexpected time crunch of making sure they’re not making them stand in the hallway for hours on end, all of the boys have made it into the tunnel and down the little ladder through the witch. 

“So,” Conor says as Remus hops down from the ladder and the little door shuts above them. Peter wonders if it could sense that all of them were in the tunnel at that time, or if it was like an automated sensor. He thinks that’s something that’s been invented by Muggles, he’s seen them in town when he’s gone shopping with his mum, but he’s fairly certain that nothing like that has been installed at Hogwarts. Peter's fairly certain that he was told at some point that Muggle technology doesn’t work very well around Hogwarts, because of all the magic. That there was some sort of interference, that it made the wires and electricity stop working. 

Peter doesn’t know why that means no one knows what a  _pen_ is here, but that isn’t the point. 

“So what?” Remus asks. “ _Lumos_.” The tip of his wand ignites immediately at his command. 

“So... nothing. Let's go,” Conor replies and starts walking down the tunnel. 

On their way through the tunnel – which is far longer than Peter at least was anticipating and was definitely not meant for five people at a time – they make small talk, Conor telling them about how he found out about the tunnel and how to open it by following the fifth years who Peter had overheard when they’d gone and he was bored enough to see what they were up to. 

After what feels like nearly an hour of twisting and turning and both James and Remus complaining incessantly about having to walk hunched over basically horizontally, they come to a set of stone steps. Conor stops abruptly at the front of the group, causing Sirius to collide with his shoulders, with Peter getting squished between Sirius’ back and James’ elbow behind him. 

“What the fuck,” Peter says, extremely eloquently, he thinks, given the situation. 

“Well?” James asks. “Is this it?” 

“I mean, I'd assume so, since there weren’t any turns we could’ve taken –" Conor begins. 

He's cut off by Remus, from the back of the group interrupting, “Wait, you’d  _assume_  so? Do you not know?” 

Conor turns to give Remus a look over his shoulder. “Were you not listening earlier? I didn’t come across this through a discovery of my own, I eavesdropped and learned about it in  _theory._ I’ve never been down here.” 

“Can someone just fucking move?” Sirius asks irritably, sounding as squished as Peter feels. “Conor, walk.” 

They start to move up the stairs, eventually making it through a trap door in the cellar of Honeydukes and up into the shop without being seen by anyone other than fellow students, who are so consumed with consuming sweets that they don’t notice them at all. Honestly, none of them have a huge desire to spend more time in the crowded sweets shop than absolutely necessary, so they practically run through the packed little aisles, grabbing armfuls of what they need for Marlene and Dorcas (and a few select items for themselves) before paying for their food and leaving. 

“So,” Peter says when they’ve burst out of Honeydukes and onto the streets of Hogsmeade, “where to next?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? Zonko’s.” 

“No, it isn’t  _obvious_ , James, I didn’t memorize the entire catalogue of shops in this town.” 

“Just,” James sighs, “just come on, okay?” 

Two hours later, arms laden with products and Sirius’ bag of coins significantly lighter than it had been when they’d first come to the village, their party emerges from within the depths of the tunnel once again to an empty hallway. 

“Where are the girls?” Remus asks, looking around. 

“That would be your first question,” Sirius says. 

Remus throws his hands in the air. “Why did you say that as though it was obvious? What the  _fuck_ would make you think that?” 

“I dunno,” Sirius replies, making a face. “You womanizer, you.” 

“Okay, I feel like my good name is being slandered without cause. If anyone here’s a wannabe womanizer it’s James.” 

“What can I say?” James flings his arms out widely, nearly knocking his hand into Conor’s ear, but the latter leans out of the way just in time. “The ladies love me.” 

Miraculously enough, the halls are still pretty much devoid of life as they make their way back to their respective common rooms, Conor splitting off from them at the staircases and heading to the opposite end of the castle. 

“I don’t really know why you hate him so much,” Peter comments offhandedly. “I think he’s nice.” 

“I don’t  _hate_  him,” James replies, adjusting an armful of Zonko’s products and nearly falling over in the process. He regains his footing smoothly and continues, “I just have to beat him at everything and then we can be friends.” 

“What, exactly, is he better at than you?” 

“Honestly, Remus, shouldn’t this be obvious by now? All of my rivalries stem from Quidditch."

“What about with Snape?” 

“He’s deeply dissatisfied with his life because he knows he can never achieve the level of sportsmanship that comes naturally to me, even if he spent his entire life trying,” James says easily. “And you thought you could stump me with that one. For shame.” 

The common room is quiet and still, the sounds of soft chatter and the crackle of the midafternoon fires burning keeping a gentle hum of background noise going. Sirius unceremoniously dumps an armload of sweets on the couch next to Marlene as he passes her, saying, “Nice job watching the statue,” and flicking her ear. Marlene throws a book at his head. 

Later that night, long after dinner and several hours of experimentation with their highly prohibited magical merchandise, when the four of them are around the room upstairs and talking about nothing in particular, when Remus falls asleep and the other boys lower their voices purposefully so that they don’t disturb him, when James is in mid-throw of a Dungbomb across the room to Sirius, who has been roped into a reluctant and risky game of catch with dangerous repercussions should either of them miss, that they broach the subject. 

Sirius catches the Dungbomb easily and, before he can throw it back to James, scrunches his eyebrows down. “What are you doing?” 

James is craning his neck around in what looks like an attempt to see onto Remus’ bed without actually standing up and going over to him. “Is he asleep?” 

Peter, perched on the end of his own bed, has a better vantage point than James does from his cross-legged position on the floor. “I mean, looks like it. He's breathing really deeply. Why, do you want to talk shit about him or something?” 

“No!” James answers quickly. “If I wanted to talk shit about him, I'd do it in front of his face. He knows that.” 

“So, what?” 

James looks at his lap, almost guiltily, before lifting his head back up so fast it looks like he’s given himself whiplash, saying, “I really think there’s something wrong.” 

Peter frowns. “With what?” 

“With  _Remus_ ,” James stresses. 

“Not this again,” Sirius groans, flopping backwards dramatically, seeming to forget that there’s nothing underneath him but the hard stones of the floor, and knocking his head against them. “Ow.” 

“Yes, this again!” James whisper-shouts. Peter has to admit it, he’s pretty impressed at James’ ability to keep his volume low. Remus hasn’t stirred at all. “I _can’t_  be the only one who sees it.” 

“Who sees what?” 

James holds out a hand, prepared to list thing on his fingers. “He sleeps all the time and yet he always looks tired. He disappears once a month to  _visit his mum_ , but yet when we ask him about how it was we always get shitty non-answers. He has all those  _scars_ ,” James lowers his voice to a true whisper on that word, as though he thinks it’ll wake Remus up, “and they’re the kind you don’t get unless something’s going on.” 

Sirius has sat up at this point, knees clutched to his chest, chin resting on his knees thoughtfully. Peter doesn’t know what to say, so he kicks a leg out lightly, the heel bouncing against the foot of his four-poster as it comes back. 

“So, what, do you have theories?” Peter asks after a moment. He thinks his voice sounds weird when he says it, but that might be half because he’s trying to keep his voice down and half because he doesn’t really want to think much himself about the implications of his friend having scars all over his body. 

Peter can’t pretend like he hasn’t noticed – the four of them have been living together for long enough now that they know the ins and outs of how each other work almost as well as they know their own bodies. He's seen Remus’ scars, and he’s averted his eyes and hasn’t said anything, the same way that James and Sirius have. They don’t want to make him feel like shit over something that was clearly a traumatic experience, so why bring it up? Why force him to open up to them about something that he clearly isn’t ready to? Peter, at least, was fairly certain that this was an opinion that they all held, and while it was unspoken, he didn’t think it needed to be. 

James clears his throat lightly, cheeks going a little pink. He looks slightly embarrassed by what he’s about to say, but he says it anyway. 

“I have four.” 

“Oh, fuck, this is going to be something, isn’t it?” Sirius says, a little grin on his face despite the gravity of the conversation. 

“One: Remus has a standing appointment to go and wrestle a bear in the Forbidden Forest once a month. It's a magical bear, and he’s stuck in a binding contract with it, so he can’t exactly back out. He's gone for a few days because he has to spend time in the hospital wing recovering from his injuries.” 

“Uh,” Peter begins. 

James holds up a hand. “Please, Pete, save all comments until the end of my theories.” 

Peter raises his own hands in the air in a kind of defensive gesture. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“Not yet, you didn’t,” James replies darkly. “Anyway. Two: he has a crippling addiction to gambling and is thus in debt. Remus spends one night once a year in the seedy wizarding underground, playing intense games of cards and hoping to win back his family fortune, which he lost in a poker tournament last year.” 

Sirius snorts. James shoots him a glare. 

“Three! Remus has a secret family. This is the only time he can visit them. He is a very young father. They’re very poor – perhaps this one and the gambling one are connected – and they live in the shack outside of Hogsmeade.” 

“The Shrieking Shack?” Sirius asks, raising his eyebrows skeptically. “Isn’t that haunted? Why would they live there?” 

“ _Hogwarts_  is haunted,  you  dumb fuck, and they live there because it’s  _cheap_ ,” James answers dismissively. “My fourth and final theory is that he’s a werewolf but that’s not nearly as likely and it’s also less cool.” 

There's a pause. From his spot on the ground, Sirius looks up at Peter, who shrugs back at him. 

It isn’t like James’ theories don’t have a little grain of relevance to them, like there isn’t something about them that makes Peter’s skin itch with the urge to uncover the truth. He feels like how he did last year when they were trying to catch Bratum in the act of being a Death Eater – like they’re  _close_  to something, and he wants to keep going and follow the thread to whatever this is, wherever it leads them. 

A small but insistent tugging in his heart, however, is trying to tell him that this isn’t a good idea. Not for Remus, at least. 

Instead of voicing his concerns, however, Peter makes a small beckoning motion with his fingers, which prompts Sirius to toss him the Dungbomb. 

“Well?” James asks, not noticing the exchange. “What do you think?” 

“What do I think?” Peter asks, pretending to consider the question. After a moment, he continues, “I dunno, something like this,” and chucks the Dungbomb at James’ head. 

The ensuing blast of scent and the yelling from the boys at the explosion jolts Remus out of his sleep, and as he shouts at them from his bed about how he wants to kill them all for this and that  _someone_ had better open a window, all Peter can think about in that moment is how grateful he is that Remus hadn’t heard anything that they’d said before. 


	9. in which we discover the various properties of shrivelfigs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my babies. regular posting has begun/come back to being a thing. jamie is being strict with me and making me finish writing them by saturday so that i can post every sunday at 11. i would love to post/write more but because i work full-time during the week it's a little harder to get it out monday through friday.
> 
> but here you go. here are the fruits of my labors. this is just a bit of a fun one. sorry for all of the sirius pov ones but that's how it's shaking out bc i have the next two planned for whose pov it is and so this one couldn't be any of the other boys and the last one was pete. anyway. i'm sure you don't mind as everyone on the internet would pretty much die for that bitch (me included) and i love to write from his pov (no, i don't have favorites, i love all my children equally).
> 
> please let me know what you think! comments and kudos are very much appreciated. i'm sorry i usually don't reply to them but i see all of them and i Love all of them. they make me feel alive in a way that i haven't in nigh on a decade. love u all.
> 
> twitter - gryffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

Maybe Sirius is an unobservant bitch of a friend, but he truly didn’t notice that Remus is tired all the fucking time until James pointed it out. 

Remus takes fifteen minutes longer than the rest of them to even get out of bed in the morning. Remus falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow when he gets into bed at the end of the night. Remus passes out in Transfiguration class on Thursday and seems to have some kind of understanding with Professor McGonagall, because instead of berating him and giving him a detention like she had when James had done the same thing last week, she walks by during her lecture and gently nudges his shoulder to wake him up, not bringing attention to him in any other way. Sirius just notices because he’s sitting next to him and watches the entire exchange happen. 

It might be odd for  _that_ moment to be the thing that makes Sirius start to think that maybe, possibly, by some miracle of circumstance, James might be right, but it happens either way. 

That isn’t to disparage James’ critical thinking skills or anything – Sirius honestly has a deep-seated envy of James and the easy way he rolls through his classes and his life in general, but that’s an emotional issue to tackle at a different time – but Sirius has just had a bit of a hard time believing that anything is really  _off_ about Remus. 

They haven’t spoken of it as a group since that night when James listed off his conspiracy theories – perhaps because it’s felt like too much of a risk. Remus is always around and always  _awake_ , which is a departure from the norm, just when they need it to be the opposite so that they can figure it out. However, Sirius thinks he, at least, has been subtle enough in trying to think through the validity of James’ ideas that Remus won’t notice that they’ve been theorizing. 

“Why are you being weird?” Remus asks over lunch in mid-November, abruptly. 

Apparently, they haven’t been doing well at concealing their speculations over the past couple of weeks as Sirius had hoped. He blames James. 

“Weird?” James asks in a squeaky voice. He makes a face immediately afterwards, noticing how strangely it came out of his mouth. “What do you mean  _weird_?” he continues, significantly lowering his voice as though that sounds any more natural. 

“What the fuck are you doing with your voice?” Peter asks, looking disgusted. “You sound like you’re trying to convince a cashier that you’re twenty-five so you can buy alcohol.” 

“Oddly specific scenario, Pete, do you have a lot of experience with that?” 

“Yeah, of course, Sirius, only I'm actually good at it,” Peter replies. 

“Anyway, the point is,” Remus interjects. “You’re being weird.” 

“Who?” 

“All of you?” he continues. “Don’t act like you haven’t been acting strangely, I'm not stupid.” 

“Maybe we’re just planning something?” Sirius begins. It comes out a lot more hesitantly than he wanted it to, which makes Remus raise his eyebrows in skepticism. 

“You don’t sound too sure about that. Also, if you were, why wouldn’t I be involved?” 

The bell rings. “Oh, look, the bell,” James says in a hasty and somewhat robotic tone. “We have Herbology.” 

Remus throws his hands in the air. “You’re avoiding the question.” 

“No, I'm not! I'm avoiding being late and therefore avoiding a detention from Sprout,” James replies, all but running out of the Great Hall. 

They make it to Herbology with plenty of time to spare, squeezing into the greenhouse that they’ve been working in for the past couple of weeks past the large pots and bags of fertilizer and hanging planters. Sirius smacks a tendril reaching out from a Venomous Tentacula as it attempts to curl itself into Peter’s hair, ducking underneath it as they head to their usual spots.

There’s never really any sort of assigned positioning in Herbology, they’re just expected to gather around the large tables in the greenhouses and pay attention, but at this point, they’ve established that everyone has unofficial yet official spots that they go to every class, and it would be strange to go anywhere else. However, it’s slightly inconvenient for the four of them to show up before anyone else on their side of the table, as the spot that they’ve chosen is right in the middle and the people on the end will have to edge around them to reach their regular positions. 

Sirius is probably overthinking the inconvenience of it all, but he just knows that he would be bothered if he had to step around an entire friend group to get to his normal spot, especially what with having to maneuver around various semi-sentient plants with carnivorous appetites. 

“Are you happy?” Remus grumbles as they set their bags down and take out their supplies for the lesson, fitting on their gloves and opening their books. “We certainly aren’t fucking late.” 

“I’m always happy to not be late, which is something that I don’t think you can relate to,” James replies. 

“Fuck off.” Remus doesn’t bother to lower his tone on that one – there's still maybe two other students in the greenhouse at this point but on top of that, Professor Sprout has never been all that particular about swearing. 

Over the next few minutes, the rest of the class files in through the front door, trickling in a good deal slower than they would normally, as everyone had just come from lunch and Herbology has always been a fairly lax lesson to begin with. Despite how unstructured this class tends to be, though, Sirius has never liked the fact that it’s a double lesson on Mondays, and on top of that, they have to share it with another House. 

Unlike James, Sirius doesn’t really have a huge sense of inter-House rivalry instilled in him as of this point. Perhaps this is due to his entire family being Slytherins, but he doesn’t feel the intense urge to strangle anyone that isn’t a Gryffindor that good portion of their House does. Sirius just doesn’t like the over-crowding of the greenhouses; James is of the mindset that if Slytherins breathe around him, that’s a valid reason to try and accost them. 

Well, perhaps  _accost_ is a strong choice of words. Sirius has never seen James physically get in a fight, much less even go so far as to hex them. He  _has,_  however, been unable to control his mouth many times. 

As if to further prove Sirius’ point – that he’d only made to himself in his head, but that is still valid – James says in a stage whisper, “I still can’t believe we have to share this lesson with the Slytherins, Potions is one thing but being outside in the fresh air and still not getting to escape? This is shit.” 

“That’s discrimination,” a short girl with curly red hair says from across the table. 

“Discriminating against what? Losers?” James replies. Remus shoves him lightly. 

“Maybe you’re just projecting,” the girl replies. 

“What would I be projecting?” 

She shrugs. “Clearly, your vast array of insecurities associated with being a, as you said, loser.” 

James opens his mouth as though he wants to say more, but in that moment, Professor Sprout bustles into the greenhouse, cutting through the chatter with a loud, “Alright, that’s enough. Miss Carr, please stop putting Mr. Potter’s insecurities on display. Mr. Potter, please stop insulting your fellow classmates without cause. And close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.” She makes her way to the front of the greenhouse, clapping her gloved hands together with a muted sort of smack, and announces, “So who’s ready to prune and pick some Abyssinian Shrivelfigs?” 

James shuts his mouth and bends over the table to pay very close attention to his book, suddenly extremely focused on finding the right page for Shrivelfigs. 

“Smooth, Potter,” Lily says from down the table. “You really nailed the entire Slytherin House with your wicked insults.” 

“Shut up, Evans,” James replies, ears pink. 

“Was this whole display,” Remus says, waving his hands around in a sort of exaggerated finger-quotes motion, “just to cover up the fact that you’ve been acting weird not just all day, but for a solid week and a half?” 

“What are you talking about, Remus, James is always weird,” Marlene adds. James makes a motion as though to throw a trowel at her, but thinks better of it after noticing the sharp point and Professor Sprout immediately within sight of them, should it happen. 

“You didn’t need to talk shit about every Slytherin ever,” Mary begins. “They’re alright.” 

“Thanks,” Snape says, lingering just on the edge of their side of the table, next to Lily. 

“I was talking about Val, but Lily seems to think you’re okay too.” 

“Thanks?” Snape repeats, sounding significantly more unsure about it. Sirius unsuccessfully tries to hide a snort of laughter at that. “Can it, Black.” 

Sirius is about to reply with something probably rude – he hasn’t yet formulated exactly what he wants to tell Snape – when Professor Sprout shouts about how if they could all just give her their attention  _please_ and proceeds to teach them about the various uses for Shrivelfigs. The ones in particular that they’re going to be picking are going to be skinned in Potions later that week and will be taken up to Professor Slughorn’s stores after their lesson, so the class is told to be careful with them. 

“They aren’t as temperamental as some plants in this greenhouse,” Professor Sprout warns, batting away that same Venomous Tentacula branch that had tried to coil around Peter’s neck earlier, “but you should still be on your guard. You’ll need your shears to clip through the stems, and if any of the fruits are punctured, you could be in for a nasty surprise from the juices. Make sure to wear your gloves!” 

She claps her hands again, and the class sets off to tackle the plants. 

Sirius is sure that some students find Herbology tedious, but he for one likes the methodical care that goes into working with the plants. At least, the less dangerous ones. As far as he knows, Shrivelfigs are fine, but there’s something a bit ambiguous about how the juices are described as having  _potion-brewing properties_. All he really knows is that the leaves are medicinal, and therefore part of their tasks in class today are to clip healthy leaves as well and separate them out from the fruits to be sent to the Hospital Wing. 

Sirius ends up working on the same plant as Remus, Lily and Snape, the lattermost of whom is taking quite a few liberties in asking Remus a shitload of unnecessary questions. As much as the constant questioning is getting on Sirius’ nerves – and he can only assume, even more so on Remus’ – he can’t help but think that there’s something... almost on the right track about the points Snape is making. 

“Hey, Lupin, you going on another trip this month?” 

“What’s it to you?” 

“Nothing, just seeing if your pattern continues.” 

“Severus, drop it, it’s not our business what Remus does.” 

“Yeah,  _Severus_ , drop it.” 

“Stay out of it, Black! I was asking Lupin.” 

“You didn’t tell Lily to stay out of it.” 

“Yeah, because she’s my friend.” 

“I have no idea why.” 

“Wow, what a zinger, Lupin, do they teach you good comebacks wherever you sneak off to once a month?” 

Remus snorts. “It’s not sneaking if it’s cleared by the headmaster, which it is. Clearly you don’t know that, though, which means you haven’t  _really_ done any research.” 

Snape goes quiet for a minute, then tries again, “Look, I can only think of one thing that causes total disappearance once a month –" 

Remus gasps in mock surprise. “Oh, wow, you caught me. I have to go off campus once a month to menstruate.” 

“Wait, do you?” 

“No! God, you’re gullible,” Remus replies, shaking his head. 

“But what –" 

Sirius has heard enough of Snape’s voice at this point, and deftly punctures a Shrivelfig on purpose with his shears and tosses it over the entire planter towards Snape. “Catch.” Snape fumbles with it and the juice sprays everywhere. 

“Watch it there, Snape, that juice can cause intense euphoric reactions if it touches the skin!” Professor Sprout calls from across the greenhouse, but it’s already too late. Snape has to be escorted to the hospital wing so that he can hysterically laugh under supervision until the effects wear off. 

Lily watches him go, clipping off a piece of fruit and dropping it into the large basket between her and Sirius. “Was that necessary?” 

Sirius shrugs. “Not really. I'm sure there was a more effective way to stop him from trying to get his nose up Remus’ arse.” 

“That’s a disgusting description.” 

“And yet, a completely accurate one. Anyway, there were better ways, but none as opportune or as entertaining as this.” 

Lily shakes her head and rolls her eyes, but Sirius isn’t bothered by her less than pleasurable reaction. What's more important to him is that Snape finally stopped fucking bothering Remus with the endless questions. 

That's the difference between them and Snape, Sirius thinks to himself as he picks some dead leaves off the Shrivelfig bush near the base of the trunk. They may be speculating, but at the very least, they aren’t bombarding Remus with questions about it. 

The lesson ends surprisingly quickly. Shrivelfigs are large plants, with plenty for each student to do, even if they split up the tasks at hand, which had been rather a lot for the lesson. Once they’d finished pruning, clipping leaves, and picking the fruits, they’d delivered their baskets of harvest to the front of the greenhouse and gathered back at the planters waiting for Professor Sprout to come around and inspect them. Sirius is particularly proud when she tells his group that they’d done quite a nice job of taking proper care of the plant, as well as stepping up when a member of their group had to suddenly leave the class (“Due to what looked like carelessness to me,” she had remarked under her breath), and awarded ten points to Gryffindor for their attention to detail. 

“Well, that went well,” Sirius says, gathering everything into his bag and waiting for the rest of his friends to be ready to head out of the classroom, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. 

“What do you  _mean_  it went well? Pete and I got stuck in a group with that girl from earlier, Valentina Carr, and all she did was insult me with one of her friends,” James complains. He glares at Val from across the room. She winks at him while throwing up a peace sign. “See! It never stops.” 

“So, yeah, it went well,” Peter says, in response to Sirius’ statement. “Despite James talking constantly about how everyone seems to be out to get him when he literally digs his own grave on a daily basis.” 

“Everyone  _is_  out to get me,” James insists. They head out of the greenhouse, bags on shoulders, Remus still brushing soil off of his hands, where it had somehow managed to get even though he’d been wearing gloves the whole time. “Val Carr, Conor Vance, Sna –" 

James stops mid-word as they leave the greenhouse and see none other than Conor Vance leaning against the wall with his sister Emmeline as though he’s waiting. 

“Oh, hey,” Conor says. 

“ _Conor_ _Vance_ ,” James repeats in a hushed tone, through gritted teeth. 

“That’s my name.” 

“What are you doing here? What, do you just hang around greenhouses for fun? Don't get enough  _fun_  being on the Quidditch team, do you, Vance?” 

“Merlin, why are you so hostile?” Emmeline asks, frowning. “You’ll give yourself a heart attack stressing out constantly like that.” 

James points threateningly, which is slightly undermined when he says, “I don’t know what that is.” 

“God, you’re such an embarrassment,” Remus mutters. “Can we take you anywhere?” 

“Why the fuck am  _I_ an embarrassment? I bet Sirius doesn’t know what a heart attack is!” 

Sirius blinks. “Did - James, it isn’t as though that’s an exclusively Muggle thing, you can go to St. Mungo’s for a heart attack, it’s just we have a higher chance of preventing them from happening in the first place, as well as a better survival rate.” 

James makes a mocking face at Sirius. “Well, aren’t you quite the Healer.” 

“What?” 

“I don’t know! Everyone’s contradicting me!” 

“Because you’re... wrong?” Peter says. 

“Anyway,” Conor interjects, “we’re waiting for a friend.” 

“Who?” 

At that moment, Val comes out of the greenhouse, stopping short when she sees the gathered group just outside of the door. “You should keep walking, you’re causing a traffic jam,” she tells the Gryffindor boys dismissively, then turns to the Vance twins. “You ready to go?” 

“Wait, you’re friends?” Peter asks. 

“You know, it is possible to be friends with more than just people from your own house,” Val replies. “God, Gryffindors are so elitist, it’s like you’re in a cult. Branch out a bit.” 

Conor laughs. “See you around, Gryffs.” 

Val gives them another peace sign. Sirius doesn’t know what to do, so he gives her one in return. 

Emmeline stands up straight from where she was leaning against the wall, just like her brother, tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder, nods civilly in the general direction of the group, then specifically says, “Bye, Remus,” before walking off after her friends. 

“Bye?” Remus replies, clearly not paying attention until his name was specifically mentioned. “Am I meant to know who that was?” 

“Mate, what is it with you and never remembering Emmeline Vance? This has happened like, three times.” 

Remus gapes. “ _Has_ it?” 

“You know, maybe we’re not acting weird,” Sirius muses. “Maybe your memory is just breaking down. It's been known to happen. You're very forgetful.” 

Remus shoves him as they walk back up to the castle, meandering slowly up the grassy hill. “Don’t make me second guess myself. I'll figure out what it is. You had better be planning a surprise for me or something, that’s all I'm saying.” 

Remus isn’t the only one with a plan to figure out what it is, Sirius thinks on their way back. That is, he knows why he and Peter and James have been acting strangely, and maybe he feels guilty about trying to pry into Remus’ secrets, but he thinks that if something happens again, something soon, something to tip him over the edge and convince him that there’s  _really_  something going on... then he’ll be on board with trying to investigate. 

The third week of November rolls around, and Remus disappears for a few days, and the night air rings with the distant sound of a wolf howling, and Sirius, sitting on his bed with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, staring out of the open window at the night, brightly lit by the moon and the stars, thinks he might know which of James’ theories is the most likely to be accurate. 


	10. in which james resolves to find the truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we r slightly consistent with the once a week uploads! thank u for everyone who supports i love u all <3 we broke 30k!!! long chapter today,,, we r getting into Big Plot now.... everyone buckle ur seatbelts xxx
> 
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Remus is gone again and it’s gotten to the point where James isn’t just curious about it, he’s worried. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” James asks, lying across the sofa in the common room while Peter absolutely murders Sirius in a game of wizard’s chess on the floor in front of the fire. “He’s been gone for longer this time.” 

Sirius, who has been uncharacteristically quiet when this subject has come up lately – which has been a fair bit more than usual over the past two days – says nothing, but the twist of his mouth and furrow of his brows in that moment tells James that he’s deliberately not saying something. 

“What?” 

“What  _what_?” 

“What was that face?” 

Sirius' frown, if possible, deepens. “Nothing, Pete’s destroying me right now and I'm concentrating.” He moves a bishop, ignoring its shrieks of disapproval at his choices. 

“Do you think we don’t know what your concentrating face looks like by now?” Peter replies, the undercurrent of a laugh running through his voice. He puts a finger on his queen and moves her deftly across the board. “Checkmate.” 

“How did you – that was less than ten moves!” 

Peter shrugs. “What can I say? I'm a genius.” 

“You know who else is a genius?” James begins, diverting the subject back to the most important matter at hand. “Remus.” 

“We know,” Peter says casually. “And you still think there’s something wrong with him.” 

“Maybe there  _is_.” 

“Maybe there is,” Sirius says softly, flicking over a chess piece on the board. It falls over with a clatter. 

“Wait, did you actually just agree with me? Out loud?” 

“Don’t act like that never happens, Jamie, it happens all the time. I just haven’t agreed with you on  _this_  yet.” 

James sits up. “But... but you  _do_ now, right?” 

Sirius tilts his head from side to side slowly, as though shifting between answers. “Yes?” 

“Why do I get the feeling that you aren’t sure about it all?” 

“I don’t know, because I'm not? I think - I think if there  _is_  something going on we have to find proof for it before we keep talking about it, because just speculating is mean.” Sirius picks at the corner of the rug he’s sitting on, scratching at it so hard with his thumb that pieces are starting to come loose. “He’s noticed, we can’t keep this from him any longer.” 

“Yeah, I get that.” James stops for a moment. “We need to make a plan, then.” 

After half an hour, it’s settled. They don’t know when will be the next time Remus is gone, though Sirius voices a suspicion that it’ll fall right around the same time next month, but no matter when it falls, they know what they’re going to do. It feels sneaky and wrong and invasive, but James is more worried that something  _bad_  is happening to Remus when he disappears and if they follow him they can try and figure out a way to help him. 

Remus always announces that he’s going right before he goes. He always says goodbye and heads off out of whatever room they’re in, and he never looks back over his shoulder when he does. James has noticed this, over the extensive time he’s spent observing Remus’ habits of disappearing. He's a bit frustrated with himself that he hasn’t outright discovered what it is yet, and that they have to resort to  _following_ Remus, but at this point it’s worth it. 

There are a few complications to the plan, namely: what if Remus sees them? What if he Floos somewhere and they can’t follow him? What if he’s doing something dangerous (“Like fighting the magical bear in the forest,” James says, helpfully reminding Peter and Sirius about his theory that he thinks is most likely accurate) and they can’t help him or one of them gets hurt? 

After a fair bit of brainstorming, they manage to come up with viable answers for these scenarios. 

“Problem one,” James begins, pointing haphazardly with his wand at a chalkboard that they’d “borrowed” from an empty classroom downstairs (getting it back up to the common room and into their dorm had been a challenge in itself, but that’s not the point), “Remus isn’t gonna see us, because we have the Invisibility Cloak. The only reason why he’d be able to see us would be if he had super eyes.” 

“Maybe he has the ability to see through magical concealments,” Sirius replies, his tone slightly jaded. James is a little bit insulted by the lack of interest that Sirius is putting into this planing, but he doesn’t press the issue. All he can guess is that Sirius is just as apprehensive as James is about following Remus like this, but that he’s voicing it in a different way. “Maybe that’s what’s going on with him.” 

“We should probably try it on to make sure that we all fit under it,” Peter says, pausing his note taking. He's been keeping a somewhat detailed record of all the possible plans, scratching it out on a piece of parchment with one of his little quills that don’t need to be dipped in ink – for the life of him James cannot remember what they’re called – and now he’s moved on to making notes about what James has written on the chalkboard currently. “We haven’t since last year, I know it’s meant for a single adult, so three twelve-year-olds –" 

“I’m thirteen!” 

“Okay, two twelve-year-olds and one thirteen-year-old. Anyway, we used to all fit under it, with Remus too, but I don’t know if it’ll still work the same way, since we’ve grown.” 

“Have we?” James asks, looking slyly at Sirius. “All of us?” 

“Fuck off, just because you’re four inches taller than me doesn’t make me short! My mum says I haven’t hit my growth spurt yet!” 

“You know, he would shut up if you weren’t so fucking loud about how much you hate being called short,” Peter reasons. “Bullies are only looking for a reaction.” 

“Wow, that was so wise of you, Pete. Thank you for your sage advice.” 

Peter raises his hands slightly in a half shrug, half defensive gesture. “Look, take some advice from a fellow short person.” 

“ _Fellow_ short person?” 

“Anyway,” James says loudly, his voice bouncing slightly off of the stone walls of the room, “Second problem to tackle! If Remus Floos anywhere we’ll follow him closely enough to hear where he’s going, and then once whatever teacher’s office he’s using is empty, then we’ll go too.” 

“Question,” Peter says. “What if the teacher never leaves?” 

Before James can answer, Sirius raises his hand and interjects ith another question. “What if we follow him and he’s not there and we lose the trail?” 

"What if there’s no powder left?” 

“What if there’s no powder to Floo _back_?” 

“What if the teacher sees us?” 

“What if Sirius never hits his growth spurt and stays this same height forever?” 

“Peter  _fucking_  Pettigrew, I swear to  _shit_ I’m going to kill you in your sleep tonight!” 

“You swear to shit? Also, side note – do you not know what my middle name is?” 

“Don’t act like you know what _my_  middle name is,” Sirius replies, pointing sharply at Peter. 

Peter shrugs. “You’re the firstborn son of an ancient pureblood family. Obviously your middle name is the same as your father’s first name. Sirius Orion Black. Try and call _me_  out for being a bad friend again, I dare you.” 

“Okay, that’s not fair! You had something to go on, I don’t know why your parents chose your names, how am I supposed to guess this?” 

Peter crosses his arms. “It’s _Maxwell_.” 

“ _Maxwell_?” 

“Shut up, James, you don’t have any room to talk, I know your middle name is Fleamont.” 

James gasps. “I told you that in confidence!” 

“My middle name is John, so I think I've won for the least horrible,” Remus’ voice says from the door, and James’ arm spasms out, knocking the chalkboard to the ground from where it had been resting on a trunk against the wardrobe.” 

Miraculously, the words on the chalkboard hadn’t provided that much detail as to what they were talking about, and it falls on a blanket that Sirius had kicked off of his bed in the middle of the night and hadn’t bothered to pick up yet. James thinks if he maneuvers strategically, he might be able to pick it up while accidentally on purpose making the words rub off on the blanket. 

“Remus!” Sirius says suddenly. 

“Sirius!” Remus replies, doing an exaggerated little jazz hands motion. James thinks it’s particularly effective in conveying to everyone what a sarcastic response that was, without explicitly saying it. Remus deserves some points for that one. 

“We missed you,” James says from the floor. “We’re lost without you.” 

Remus snorts. “Yeah, I'm sure you are, how _will_  you accomplish anything without me?” 

Peter deftly tucks his parchment that he’s been using to make notes on under his blanket, smoothly enough that James barely notices it before his hands have stopped moving. “We never do.” 

“Shut up,” Remus replies easily. 

The conversation kind of just stalls in its tracks from there, devolving into small talk about things that happened while Remus was gone and what James can only assume are manufactured little stories about what went on in Wales this time. James has to hand it to Remus – these are remarkably detailed tidbits about what may or may not have happened, and if he’s just coming up with them on the fly, then Remus is a much better liar than James had originally thought. 

Then again, if he’s been lying about what he’s been up to every month for the past year or so, Remus’ ability to spin a yarn has never really been in dispute. 

James isn’t offended by the lying; he thinks he knows that whatever it is, it wouldn’t be constant and continuous if there wasn’t a _reason_. Remus isn’t really one to lie unnecessarily. At this point, James thinks he knows him well enough that he’s positive Remus would rather deal in harsh truths than superfluous lies. 

He doesn’t really like to think about what it means if Remus has been lying about something for this long, but they’re getting close to figuring it out. At least, James thinks they are. Now that they’re getting close... James might  _have_  to think about what it means. 

It means it’s something serious, it means it’s something real, it means that this is big enough that Remus doesn’t feel comfortable telling any of his closest friends about it. That last one hurts a little, but James isn’t going to let himself be bothered by it. He's more concerned about how when Remus came back into the dorm tonight he looked as though every bone in his body are sculpted out of the physical manifestation of  _exhaustion_ , like it was all he could do to be upright, like he had just run all the way back to school from his house, like there was something behind his eyes that feels  _hollow_. 

The small talk tapers off after Remus gets in bed and crashes almost immediately. James had left the chalkboard on the floor the entire time since it had fallen – which had only been a few minutes, Remus had fallen asleep remarkably quickly – so he takes his opportunity now to flip it over and wipes off all the writing. 

“Give me the chalk,” Sirius whispers next to him, and James jumps a little in surprise. 

“How long have you been there? That was the quietest approach I've ever heard.” 

“Shut up, just give it to me.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Covering our tracks,” Sirius replies, writing _the school year is boring so far: here’s what we could do to spice it up_ in script somewhere between elegant and scrawling. 

“One: turn the Great Hall into a skating rink,” James Reads aloud. “Hey, that’s not bad.” 

“I’ve been known to have decent ideas.” 

“Turn the giant squid magenta,” Peter suggests from his bed, voice still low enough not to wake Remus. “Egg the Slytherin Quidditch team. Shrink all of Dumbledore’s robes in the wash so that he can’t use magic to fix them an has to walk around in outfits six inches too short until he can go get some more.” 

Sirius looks up from the chalkboard. “Pete, you’re such an angel, I would be lost without you.” 

Not yet taking his attention off of his papers of notes for their  _actual_ plans, Peter replies, “Anything for you, my darling.” 

Things start to fall into their typical routines the next day, particularly with Remus being noticeably subdued for the first few days that he’s back. Soon enough, though, November rolls into December and the major subject floating around the halls of Hogwarts (aside from _who put Dumbledore’s robes in with the regular wash, don’t you know that they need to be dry-cleaned only?_ but that’s last week’s news) is the rapid approach of Christmas. 

James is bold enough to suggest venturing out through the one-eyed witch’s tunnel so that they can get their Christmas shopping done before they head home. 

“This way,” he reasons, trying to get everyone on board, despite the fact that there aren’t any Hogsmeade weekends approaching and they’ll be the only students wandering around the entire village, “we can get gifts for each other and do a little exchange before we go home. You know, like a school family Christmas.” 

“While I admire that sentiment, James, do you know how unlikely it is that we’ll be able to make it through even one shop without someone calling McGonagall to come get us?” Remus says. “Also, imagine how pissed she’d be if we made her come all the way down to the village to get us when a. it’s not a Hogsmeade weekend, b. we aren’t allowed to leave the ground  _ever_  since we aren’t third years, c. it’s fucking freezing outside, and d. it isn’t like she’d be able to Apparate down, she’d have to walk. By the time she got to us she’d be ready to murder.” 

“That was remarkably well thought out,” Peter says in a slightly impressed tone. “Did you come up with all of that on the fly?” 

“Yeah, the reasons just kept piling up and they all made sense, I had to include them,” Remus replies. 

James crosses his arms, trying and failing not to pout a little bit. “But it’s Christmas.” 

“It isn’t Christmas, it’s mid-December.” 

James wants to throw Remus out the window. “You’re such a – Pete what was it called? A _grunch_.” 

Peter snorts loudly, clapping his hands to his mouth in an attempt to keep his burst of laughter inside. “It’s the  _Grinch_ , you idiot!” 

Sirius has been quiet for most of this exchange; it’s a Friday afternoon and he’s been using this opportunity to decorate the dorm with a bunch of stolen Christmas decorations that they’d swiped from Professor Flitwick’s stash when he’d been getting the trees set up in the Great Hall at the beginning of the month. They'd been sitting in a box for the past week and a half while the boys had tried to find the motivation to do things with them – as well as figuring out how to attach them to the wall when none of them know the right spell to do so and no one had thought to steal any tape from Flitwick’s supplies – but Sirius seems to have been struck by inspiration. Somewhere from within the depths of Remus’ trunk a series of Christmas records had been unearthed, as well as an old-timey gramophone that he’d taken from his parents’ attic because no one used it anymore so no one would miss it. 

In any case, Sirius has taken it upon himself to be in charge of the Christmas music, and James has to hand it to him, after a day or so of trial and error, he’d become quite good at creating an ambience, even though it was only a single genre of music. James thinks it works because Remus has a staggering array of records (he isn’t even sure how it fit into his trunk, Remus had said something about how he’d found most of them with the gramophone and had just brought them along with him as well), and quite a notable chunk of those are holiday themed. 

Sirius flips the record to the other side, setting up to start to first song, saying absently as he does, “I ordered all my Christmas gifts through owl post.” 

“Looks like your plan’s just been foiled, JP,” Remus says lightly, standing up and carrying the box of decorations across the room before Sirius runs out of tinsel in his hands and has to ask for more. “You could just owl post it like Sirius or, like the rest of us who are children and don’t have pocket money because we spent it all already, make a heartfelt, handwritten card for our parents and hope it suffices.” 

“My parents always say my presence is a present, so I'm holding them to that and saying that me coming home is enough of a gift for them this Christmas,” Peter says. He pauses, but not long enough for anyone to think he’s being sincere, adding, “Just kidding, I'm a caring son, I'm making the pudding this year.” 

“Does that really count as a gift? Letting your twelve-year-old son cook?” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s always a gift when my mum doesn’t cook, she’s awful. Plus, I get to light it on fire.” 

“Why don’t you make, you know, a good dessert?” Remus asks dryly. “I agree with James, it doesn’t seem like much of a gift, but that’s because Christmas pudding is hell on a plate.” 

The days drag on. James is getting antsy waiting for something to  _happen_  - Remus shows no sign of leaving anytime soon, other than the Friday before Christmas when everyone is set to go home. On top of nothing happening with Remus, they aren’t done with classes until  _just_ before the holiday this year, and James’ brain is frying from how long he has to spend thinking. 

That isn’t to say that he’s thinking particularly hard about school – though their teachers have been piling a fair bit of  _just before the holidays_  work on them that they have to have completed before they leave – but rather that James is preoccupied with the season itself as well as schoolwork and unraveling the mysteries of his secretive friend. 

They spend their days slowly packing their trunks halfway, throwing perhaps one pair of socks in daily, waiting for Sirius’ owl post presents to be delivered, listening to Christmas records and procrastinating on their work that they need to have finished by the time they leave. When they figure out that there’s no way everyone can get their gifts for each other sorted before they come back in January, Peter makes the executive decision to plan a small holiday party for everyone. There's a slight debate on whether they could come to someone’s house for New Year’s Eve and have a little celebration then – James really pushes for inviting the other Gryffindors in their year, at the very least, and gets made fun of for a solid half hour because Remus won’t shut up about how it’s clearly because James is in  _love_ with  _Lily_ \- until they come to the conclusion that they can just have their party on the first weekend that they’re back at school. It’ll give everyone time to get presents, anyway.  

They're doing some serious packing on their last weekend before leaving, when Remus says, offhandedly, “I think I forgot to mention, but I'm going home a couple of days early.” 

Sirius frowns. He throws James a book from across the room with a surprisingly wild swing of his arm for a book of notable weight – were either of them to miscalculate the throwing or the catching, James is sure someone’s teeth would be knocked out – as he asks, “How early is early?” 

“A couple of days, I'm leaving on Wednesday afternoon.” 

“That’s the 20th, right?” 

Remus pauses, looking up in a motion that James can only assume is a physical manifestation of him counting through the calendar. “Uh, yeah?” 

“Oh, cool,” Peter says, casually but  _quickly_ , responding before either James or Sirius can, as if he’s worried about them poking a hole in their loosely formulated plan. “You’ll be back at the normal time, right? Are you taking the train with us?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Remus replies, folding a shirt to put in his trunk. “My mum just has... doctor’s stuff that they want me to be around for.” 

“Doctor’s stuff?” James repeats skeptically, raising an eyebrow. Had it finally happened? Had Remus slipped up on something that James could use as a jumping-off point for starting a conversation? 

Remus just looks at him with a slightly confused expression. “That’s what she calls it, James, she’s a Muggle.” 

“Oh,” James replies, slightly disappointed. 

James has the Cloak with him on Wednesday, shoved into his bag around his books, ready to go whenever the opportunity presents itself. Perhaps it’s a little fucking weird to spend so much time and preparation devoted to following your friend when he leaves for a supposedly family-oriented excursion from school, but James thinks they’ve established that they’re past the point of feeling guilty about it. So after classes are over for the day and they head up to their dorm to get changed out of their uniforms, when Remus says the inevitable, “Well, I'm off, I guess I’ll see everyone when we’re back,” and continues with individual goodbyes to everyone, James is fully prepared to figure out the answers to this mystery. 

They help Remus take his trunk down the stairs and out of the common room and wave to him as he heads down the hall, watching him until he turns the corner.  

“Are we really doing this?” Peter murmurs, hand still held up in a wave as Remus has only just left their sight. “If it’s something we really shouldn’t see and he catches us, he’ll never forgive us.” 

“What if he’s in danger, Pete?” James asks, frowning and digging through his bag for the Cloak. “He’s getting hurt, we need to help him.” 

James glances at Sirius to see what he thinks about it. Sirius doesn’t respond for a moment, just gazes in the direction Remus had gone with slightly unfocused eyes, finally saying, “It’s a full moon tonight.” 

Sirius doesn’t have to elaborate any more than that. James pulls his wand out of his belt and the Cloak out of his bag and swings it over the three of them. 

Under the cover of invisibility, the three boys huddle together, pausing a moment to gather their resolve. 

Finally, James says, “Let’s go,” and they shuffle down the hallway after Remus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof we got a bit of a cliffhanger! also there was a ref in there for the jarauders xx love u


	11. in which secrets are revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. this is the big one. you all knew it was coming. everyone did. you know what happens. i only hope i deliver it with justice.
> 
> i love u all. thank u for reading/commenting/leaving kudos. it means the world to me <3 this one was FUCKING EXHAUSTING to write but im v proud of it also it's nearly 5k and i did it all in under 24 hours so i hope u appreciate it <33333
> 
> twitter - gryffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

The fading afternoon light slants through the windows at an angle that would cast a noticeable shadow if the boys weren’t under the Cloak, padding softly through the halls after Remus. Sirius had suggested taking their shoes off so that their steps are muffled in the stone hallway and James is grateful for that idea – if he hadn’t said it, Remus is sure to have caught them ages ago, clomping and clacking through the nearly empty hallways in their shoes. It isn’t that James thinks they’re particularly loud walkers, but he thinks that if they can cut down on the noise between the three of them – less talking, soft breathing, careful stepping – they can manage to make it to wherever Remus is going without him noticing them. 

James had been expecting for Remus to head in the direction of McGonagall’s office, but instead he turns left at a corridor where he should have gone right, so James really has no idea where they’re headed now. Something in his steps must have indicated his confusion and hesitation, because Peter, right behind him in the little single file line they’ve formed under the Cloak, tugs on the back of his shirt lightly to get his attention and whispers, “Hospital wing?” 

Peter is right, of course; that’s the only plausible option in this direction, unless Remus is going outside, but James can’t see why Remus would do that, unless his idea about fighting that magical bear is correct. Apparently it isn’t, as Remus makes his way through the halls without hesitation, moving at a slightly faster pace than is comfortable for following him under an Invisibility Cloak with two other people, and makes his final turn into the hospital wing, graciously leaving the door open behind him so that the other boys are able to slip inside after him. 

“Madam Pomfrey?” Remus calls, setting his bag down on a table near the front of the hospital wing, moving through it with a strange kind of familiarity that makes James wonder how often he’s been here. As far as James remembers, Remus has _never_ been in the hospital wing, but he could be wrong. Clearly he is, but he isn’t sure why it would happen and he wouldn’t know about it. 

James looks over his shoulder. Judging from Sirius and Peter’s expressions, they don’t know about it either. 

“I’m in my office, dear!” comes the answering call from Madam Pomfrey, and a few moments later, she comes bustling out of a door at the far end of the hospital wing. “Are we ready?” 

Remus shrugs. Madam Pomfrey glances out of the window and comes down the length of the room to Remus so that they aren’t shouting to each other from the ends of the hospital wing.

Remus kicks at nothing on the ground. “I  _could’ve_  just gone home early, like I said I was going to,” he says in a slightly sulky tone, looking up after he does. “No one would have known.” 

Madam Pomfrey looks at him sympathetically. “I understand, dear, but we did talk about this with your parents, remember? You know transitioning to a new location is always harder.” 

“I know.” 

“If we can avoid you having to go through that, we should. It's better for you in the long run,” she continues. 

Remus sighs. “I know,” he says again, sounding more resigned. However, James can tell from the set of Remus’ jaw and the way he’s crossing his arms that he still doesn’t agree. Whatever Remus has had to agree to today, clearly  _instead_  of going home, he would rather be doing anything else. 

Not for the first time, James wonders if Remus has been looped into something illegal. It can’t be that, can it? Madam Pomfrey said that his parents had agreed to it, so that means that it’s okay, right? 

James doesn’t have much time to think about it as Madam Pomfrey is already grabbing a little bag of what he can only assume is  _Healer things_ and heading out the door, with Remus right behind her. The boys have to lean and scoot back considerably to get out of range of their bodies passing through the door, shuffling to the side slightly until they can follow. James is actually pretty impressed at how easily they’ve stayed in sync through this whole process of staying quiet and stealthy while following Remus around at such close range, and at this point in this process he’s too preoccupied with not being detected that he doesn’t have room in his brain to feel guilty about following Remus to something clearly private like this. 

“He left the bag,” Sirius whispers. James hadn’t noticed. 

“Why would he do that?” he whispers back. They're far enough behind Remus and Madam Pomfrey that James thinks they can have a hushed conversation without them noticing. 

“Maybe he doesn’t need it,” Peter says. James looks over his shoulder at his friends. Peter looks as though he’s thinking about the bag left in the room, like he’s trying his best to figure it out; Sirius looks like he already  _has_  figured it out, but there’s something else in his expression that makes James think he doesn’t want to say it out loud because he’s hoping that he’s wrong. 

James doesn’t ask. They follow Remus and Madam Pomfrey out of the hospital wing, out of the castle (after stopping to put their shoes on again), across the grounds, finally stopping at that tree on a secluded corner of the grounds, the one that attacks everything that comes near it. 

The wind is whipping through the leaves and James is worried that the Cloak is going to blow away, but he thinks that they’re far enough away and that Remus and Madam Pomfrey are focused enough on what they’re doing that they won’t see if it’s swept upwards by the wind for a moment. Because of the wind and the extra distance between them, James thinks that it might be okay to risk asking, in a louder volume, “What’s with the tree?” 

“Whomping Willow, remember?” Peter replies. “I don’t know what’s special about it, but I’m surprised no one’s around trying to get close enough to touch the trunk today.” 

“Maybe Remus is going to touch the trunk.” 

“Don’t be stupid, why would he do that?” 

“I don’t know, maybe he brought Madam Pomfrey here in case his eyes are gouged out. Maybe it’s part of some training exercise.” 

“Training for  _what_?” 

“Shut up, look,” Sirius interrupts sharply, and James and Peter fall silent to pay attention. 

Madam Pomfrey has taken her wand out and is pointing it in the direction of the thrashing branches; before she and Remus advance any closer to the tree, she says, “ _Immobulus_ ,” and the tree stops mid-motion.

James barely has time to get out, “Wh -” when Remus and Madam Pomfrey are rushing to the tree, Remus crouching down and sliding into an opening near the base of the trunk that James wouldn’t have noticed in any other situation. Madam Pomfrey clambers in after him and after a moment of staring after them, slightly dumbfounded, the branches of the tree start to move again and James flings the Cloak off. 

“Well,” Sirius says, crossing his arms, “that’s something I wasn’t expecting.” 

“Do we – do we go after them?” Peter asks, bending down to pick up the Cloak and messily fold it in his arms with a wrapping sort of motion. 

“We’ve come this far already, we can’t back out now,” James replies, beginning to walk towards the willow. Unfortunately, he forgets in that moment about the  _whomping_ in the tree’s name, and is promptly smacked across the face by a small branch that he didn’t think was going to hurt nearly as much as it does. “Ow!” 

Peter snorts with laughter from behind James. “How did you not see that one coming?” 

“He wears glasses for a reason, Pete.” 

“Oh, right, I forgot, they’re meant to combat him being an idiot.” 

“I am not an idiot!” James protests, stepping backwards, out of the willow’s range. “Stop bullying me and help me figure out how to get it to let us pass.” 

“Bullying is targeted harassment, we don’t target our harassment, we spread it out evenly across the board, to all our friends,” Sirius says. “Also, if you’d been listening, the spell is  _Immobulus_.” 

“You think I know how to do that spell well enough to freeze a whole tree? We  _just_ learned it in Charms, Sirius, the best I can do is probably one branch.” 

In the end, they all cast the spell at the same time, Peter counting them off with a  _one, two, three_ so that they say the words in unison. Miracle of miracles, the tree freezes, and since none of them have any idea whatsoever how long the spell is going to last, they rush to the trunk, shimmying into the entrance near the base, which is far smaller than James thought it was going to be. He tries not to let it activate within him a strong sense of claustrophobia that he hadn’t known was there before this exact moment, instead distracting himself with the sudden change in scenery. 

“Oh, this is interesting,” Sirius says, looking around at the dirt tunnel that they’ve slid into. He squints for a moment before saying, “ _Lumos_ ,” and taking the lead with his lit wand. James and Peter follow suit, both with the magic and their steps. 

James isn’t at all sure how long the tunnel is, but something about this reminds him very much of the tunnel they’d used to get to Honeydukes through the one-eyed witch’s hump; he thinks, unless he’s very wrong, they are heading in the same general direction. 

His suspicions are backed up when Peter asks, “Are we going to Hogsmeade?” after they’ve been walking for at least fifteen minutes. 

“I would guess so? What else is there around?” Sirius replies, stumbling slightly over a protruding root in the dirt floor. 

Before very much longer, the tunnel comes to an abrupt halt after an angle upwards, stopping at what looks like a small opening in a wall. Around Sirius’ shoulder, James can see wooden floors and a staircase, it looks as though they’ve come to a house. 

None of them mention the need to be quiet again, but they’ve begun signaling each other instead of speaking. Sirius hauls himself out of the hole and then reaches back through to help James and Peter get onto the landing just before the staircase. 

There's a murmur of voices coming from upstairs; James can hear Remus, but he can’t understand any of the words. He swings the Cloak back around the three of them and wordlessly, stealthily, they begin a careful ascent of the stairs. 

They make it to the large room at the top of the stairs without making much noise, stepping softly and quietly and managing to excuse any creaks of the steps by assuming that it would be blamed on the clearly old house shifting. As old houses do, James thinks. 

As with the hospital wing, the door is open and they shuffle inside and stand near the wall farthest from Remus and Madam Pomfrey in an attempt to avoid detection. There's a large bed and several pieces of, if James is being honest, pretty shitty furniture sitting around the room. Everything looks run down and like a large dog has had nothing to do but tear the place up for the entirety of its life. 

James looks around the room and cannot, for the life of him, figure out what they’re doing there. He supposes they can ask Remus once Madam Pomfrey leaves, if she leaves – James doesn’t exactly want to get in trouble for sneaking off the grounds, so if their resident Healer is heading out, that’s when James plans to make their reveal. 

Remus is sitting on the bed, one leg dangling off the side and the other tucked close to him in like a half criss-cross position. It looks to James as though Madam Pomfrey is checking in on some last minute health-related things like his heart rate and... some other things that James doesn’t understand. 

“Well, you know the drill,” she says, flicking her wand at the fireplace. A bright fire crackles to life immediately, illuminating and warming the room. James hadn’t realized how chilly it was until just then, but with the warmth on half of his body now, it makes a noticeable difference. 

“Yeah, I know,” Remus replies, sounding exhausted. 

“I’ll be back at sunrise.” 

“Okay, thank you,” Remus says somewhat absently, and Madam Pomfrey bustles out of the room and down the stairs. There's a loud  _crack_  from somewhere on the lower floor, and from the telltale sound of someone Disapparating, James knows that she isn’t in the house anymore. 

“So,” Peter whispers, “are we taking the Cloak off?” 

“Shh, he’ll hear you!” 

“I’m  _whispering_ , Sirius, it isn’t as though I'm shouting!” 

“Shut up,” James says softly, suddenly, as Remus looks up and around the room from the bed. 

His eyebrows are scrunched down, the confusion in his face made even more evident by the deepening shadows caused by the rapidly dimming residual sunlight outside, and he pauses for a moment before asking hesitantly, “Is someone there?”

There's a lot of wild and completely silent gesticulating underneath the Cloak in an attempt for them to come to a decision. Finally, on impulse, James sticks his head out from underneath the Cloak and, in quite a delicate way to handle a situation such as this, says, “Hey, Remus.” 

Remus visibly jumps at the sound of his voice, the confusion on his face turning to shock, then back to confusion, and finally to something that looks like anger mixed with – is that fear? James can’t quite tell. “What the hell are you doing here?” Remus asks, and there’s a definite shake to his voice. 

“Oh, uh,” James begins, then realizes that he shouldn’t have to explain this completely on his own, especially with what looks like only a floating head sticking out of the Cloak at this point, so he flings it to the ground, revealing Peter and Sirius on either side of him. “We... followed you.” 

“I can see that,” Remus replies, after a beat. He looks like he doesn’t know what to say. 

“Look,” Sirius says, glancing at James and Peter before starting to walk across the room to Remus. “We’re worried about you, and judging from the fact that we followed you and we ended up  _here_ , I think we’re right to be.” 

Before Sirius can get too close, Remus holds out his hands to stop his forward motion. “No,” Remus says. James doesn’t think he’s ever heard Remus’ voice sound like this, like the worst thing he can possibly imagine happening is about to become a reality. “No, you can’t be here, you have to go.” 

“Remus, just  _talk_  to us, whatever’s going on, we can help!” 

“No, you’re not  _listening_ to me, you  _can’t_ be here!” Remus sounds frantic at this point. He keeps glancing out the window, James notices. The sky is completely dark at this point. “It’s not safe, you need to go.” 

“The bear,” James says under his breath. 

Peter gives him an incredulous look. “He wouldn’t be fighting a fucking _bear_ in the  _Shrieking Shack_!” 

“We’re in the Shrieking Shack?” 

“God, you’re thick.” 

“Remus,” Sirius says softly, taking a few steps forward. “Let us help.” 

“Sirius, for once in your life can you stop  _pushing_  when people tell you not to?” Remus gets down from the bed, standing. His fear seems to have transitioned primarily to anger, but there’s something in his voice that is making James’ stomach tight with anticipation. “I’m telling you that you can’t do anything, it’s dangerous for you to be here, and I don’t want you to see this.” 

“If it’s dangerous for us then it’s dangerous for you, too, and we aren’t going to leave you in a situation that could hurt you.” 

“Don’t you understand?” Remus asks. He sounds like his heart is breaking when he continues, his voice ragged, “ _I’m_ the dangerous situation.” 

He shuts his eyes then, just after saying that. Peter says, “I don’t,” but that’s all he gets out before something happens. 

James can only describe it as  _something_ happening because he doesn’t know how to describe it at all. Several actions of note all fall into place within quick succession of each other, and James can barely process them as they’re happening. 

There's a light through the window, a natural, cold glow that James associates with winter nights. A shudder goes through Remus’ body, looking like it starts at the base of his spine and works its way up and out of all of his limbs, loosening up his joints in a way that doesn’t look entirely natural. Sirius takes a step back. There's a moment, like a heartbeat, like a  _breath_  before something big happens. And then it does. 

Looking back on it, the only way James can think to describe it is that the wolf that tears its way out of his friend’s body is  _fast_ , faster than he could have imagined, faster than he was expecting, if he was expecting anything like this at all. He thinks he hears Remus cry out briefly, but the sound is enveloped by a snarl, a low growl in the wolf’s throat, and James is stumbling backwards so quickly that he can’t process any thoughts other than  _move out of the way_. He grabs onto Sirius’ sleeve, pulling him back farther as well. 

James does a mental check. Sirius is next to him. Peter is behind him. Remus is – Remus has been consumed by a wolf that’s been coiled under his skin, waiting to burst out like a shaken bottle of pop with the cap barely keeping it intact. 

James’ mind is racing. The monthly disappearances make sense. The scars make sense. The _exhaustion_  makes sense. Even the lying makes sense; James can’t fault Remus for wanting to keep this a secret. He doesn’t think he particularly cares about the whole werewolf aspect of it, but he knows that other people will. Mostly because of the safety issue. Is there a safety issue? James is brought back to the present moment at the thought that maybe they should have listened to what Remus had said earlier, when he’d tried to tell them that it was dangerous. 

From what James knows about werewolves – which isn’t much, considering they aren’t supposed to study them until next year – there's not really anything of the rational human mind left in them when they transform. There's a chill in his stomach when he thinks about that; Remus had been trying to warn them while he still could. 

The wolf is still on the ground by the bed. It seems a little disoriented. James supposes that he would be too if he had just gone through a transformation like that. None of the boys have managed to say anything yet: Peter’s mouth is hanging open and Sirius’ eyes are huge, so James can hazard a guess at what they’re thinking. However, no one voices any thoughts until James finally says, “Oh, he’s kind of cute.” 

“What?” Sirius asks, shocked. “We just found out our best friend is a  _werewolf_  and your first thought  is _oh, he’s kind of cute_? What the fuck kind of reaction is that?” 

“I don’t know, _Sirius,_ maybe one from someone who isn’t about to run away screaming just because this was revealed about our, as you said, best friend.” 

“I’m not about to run away screaming, I'm just saying that that isn’t a typical reaction!” 

“Stop shouting,” Peter says in a low, sharp voice. James turns to look at him; he’s stiff and his jaw is clenched and his wand is out. His other hand is held out in an outstretched, open position, as though he’s preparing himself to move at a moment’s notice. “Look.” 

There's only one thing in the room that Peter could really be looking at with such focus, so James doesn’t waste his time trying to figure out what it could be. He looks to the wolf by the bed and feels a sharp jolt in his stomach when he sees that it’s gotten to its feet. It's smaller than he thought a wolf would be, and maybe that’s because Remus is young, but James has seen several dogs over the course of his life and while the animal in front of them is  _clearly_ a wolf, it looks to be about the size of an Alsatian. Which, if James is being honest, is much more underwhelming than he was expecting. There's also a bit of gangly adolescence around the muzzle and the legs, but the part that James’ focus gets stuck on is the eyes.

They're wolf eyes, there’s no disputing that, but there’s something behind them that, even if James hadn’t seen Remus transform into this a few minutes ago, tells him this is as far from ordinary as it’s possible for a wolf to be. James has never noticed the green of Remus’ eyes before, but he’s particularly struck by the shade as he’s confronted with it in the face of a wolf. 

The wolf is on its feet, its ears twitching with their every noise. Part of James thinks if they just stay  _still,_ if they just stop moving, stop thinking, stop breathing, the wolf will ignore them and go to sleep or something. He knows that’s not the case, though. He can tell from its body language. It's like some sort of base instinct within him has been awakened by the predator in front of him, like his fight or flight response is itching to take over his body. 

James can see everything in slow motion. This is how it feels when he plays Quidditch, like things are dialed down just enough so that he knows what to do next and he can prepare himself for something that’s about to happen when he sees the signs unfolding. 

The wolf’s upper lip curls into a growl, its legs tensing in a crouched position. James sees its nose twitching, a sniffing motion, and he knows in that moment that the love that Remus has for them, his friends, can do nothing for the animal that’s taken over his body. 

From the light of the moon coming through the open window, James can see the fur on the wolf’s back standing up in aggression. 

“Shit,” Sirius says under his breath. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” 

“We have to move,” James replies in the same tone. “We’re gonna run, on three.” 

He can see the wolf shifting on its paws, and he knows that they have seconds. 

“We’re gonna  _what_?” Peter squeaks, his voice coming out shaky and thin. 

“On my count,” James begins. 

The wolf’s growl thrums through the room and invades James’ chest, his heart beating faster in time with the vibrato. 

“One.” 

James pushes his glasses up his nose and bends his legs in preparation. 

“Two.” 

Sirius reaches out slightly and pushes the door open more. He's barely able to touch it, but it swings open about another foot. 

“Three!” 

The last word comes out in a shout, and the attention of the wolf, which had been diverted by the creaking of the door, snaps to James, but he’s already moving. There's only so far they can sprint before coming to stairs, as Sirius is already close enough to the door to touch it, but when the only thought in your mind is _run_ there aren’t many ways you can fuck it up. But the wolf lunges after them faster than James thought was possible, and all he can think about is  _get out, get out, don’t hurt Remus, don’t fall, get out_. 

Sirius is halfway down the stairs in an instant; James is a few steps behind him. There's a shout from the top of the stairs and James’ heart freezes in his chest. “Pete?” he calls over his shoulder. 

Peter’s stupid trousers have gotten stuck on a nail sticking out from the wall on the landing, just before the stairs begin. James turns, reaches out for him, grabbing his hand and pulling, as the wolf careens out of the door, reaching out for Peter’s vulnerable, trapped leg with a clawed paw that is far too agile and quick. 

“Pete!” comes Sirius’ frantic voice from further down the stairs just as James  _pulls_ , and then several things happen at once. 

Peter’s trousers tear and he comes loose. The wolf’s claws gouge into the wall exactly where Peter was a second ago. Gravity does its work and Peter comes flying down the stairs. James falls backwards, letting go of Peter’s hand accidentally as he does. Peter crashes into the banister and slides down the jagged, splintery, rickety stairs, all the way to the bottom. 

The good thing about that is that he’s landed right by the way back into the tunnel. The biggest out of the multitude of bad things, is that he’s clearly bleeding and looks like he might be unconscious. 

The wolf takes a moment to reorient itself at the top of the stairs, and James knows they have second before it moves again. Before James knows what he’s saying, he’s shouting, “Sirius, get him out!” 

“What? You can’t stay here by yourself!” 

“I’m right behind you, I promise!” James replies, fumbling with his wand a little, trying to get it out of his pocket. It isn’t easy, with his hands shaking and the Cloak over his arm and his heart pounding so hard in his ears, in his body, that he can’t think straight. 

“Fuck,” he hears Sirius say from the bottom of the stairs, and from behind him, there’s the sound of what he can only assume is someone being dragged. There's a soft undercurrent of Sirius speaking, James guesses that he’s telling Pete that he’ll be okay. 

The wolf’s attention catches on James. From the top few steps, it jumps. 

James has never used magic practically before. He’s never even hexed someone. All he can think to do in that moment, the only spell that comes to him that will actually do something is, “ _Flipendo_!” 

In any other situation, James thinks the sight of a wolf flying backwards through the air would be funny, but he doesn’t have time to think about that right now, all he can think about is running down the stairs as fast as his legs can carry him. 

Sirius has pulled Peter through the opening in the wall. The wolf is only incapacitated for a moment, James can hear it thundering down the stairs behind him. He slides to his knees when he reaches the bottom step, launching himself through the opening in the wall, the opening that’s just barely big enough for a twelve-year-old boy but far too small for a wolf, falling through it and into Sirius’ arms at a much faster speed than either of them were anticipating. 

“Go, go, go,” James pants, standing up and pulling Sirius with him. “Help me carry Pete.” 

They loop Peter’s arms around each of their shoulders and pull him through the tunnel, rushing farther away from the opening into the shack, the wolf still snarling behind them. It takes ages, but finally they burst out of the opening under the tree, which has graciously frozen for them so that they aren’t attacked on their way out. James and Sirius don’t stop moving until they’re out of range by the tree and have pulled Peter far enough so that they can set him down and he’ll be safe. 

There's a pause. The moon is bright enough and the sky is clear enough that James doesn’t even need to light his wand. Peter is knocked out, and Sirius is kneeling next to him, peering at his back after lifting up his shirt to assess the injuries. 

“We have to take him to Madam Pomfrey,” Sirius says quietly after a moment. 

“And say what? How would he have gotten hurt like that? How do we explain it?” 

“I don’t know. I just know he needs help.” 

James sits and thinks for a moment. “We should ask the girls.” 

Sirius frowns. “How would  _they_  be able to help? They’re not Healers.” 

“Didn’t Lily say she took some kind of training? Like she was babysitting and so she learned how to fix minor injuries.” 

“I wouldn’t say this is _minor_ , he’s been knocked out.” 

“I’m okay,” comes Peter’s muffled voice, and Sirius rushes to help him turn his head so he can speak more clearly. “Just a little sore.” 

“What do you think, Pete?” 

Peter shrugs, with some difficulty. “What do I think? What the  _fuck_  is what I think.” 

“No, not about Remus, about your back.” 

“Oh. I don’t know. I just want to go to bed.” 

James meets Sirius’ eyes over Peter’s collapsed form. “So back to Gryffindor Tower then?” 

Sirius sighs. “Yeah, I suppose. What a night this is turning out to be.” 

They sling Peter back over their shoulders and start the slow hobble back up the hill to the castle. James stiffens and tries not to look back as he hears, in the distance, the mournful howling of a wolf. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some extra notes:  
> 1\. yes i know the way to freeze the whomping willow is to press the knot at the base of the trunk. however, i just can't personally see madam pomfrey crawling to the tree trunk to do that shit when immobulus exists, can you?  
> 2\. when she disapparated, it was just out of the house, since there aren't any working doors or anything and again, i can't really see her crawling through the tunnel if she doesn't have to.


	12. in which lily puts her first aid skills to the test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little late in the day for this one but i've made it! i had some technical difficulties yesterday that made writing LITERALLY impossible, but i've come through. next chapter we will hit 40k! it's hard to believe that my little baby of a fic is getting so big already :') also, can we talk about the fact that we're only at christmas on the cmaf timeline and we're longer than ahmicb is as a whole? i think that's just because there's so much drama and potential to write about the further we go into the series. personally, i'm very much looking forward to years 4-7 ,,, stay tuned for when we start churning those out ;)
> 
> thank you to all my readers, your support especially on the last chapter really gave me the motivation to continue. i had a really difficult week this past week and was dealing with some big personal issues, but your comments and kudos really helped me to keep going and feel motivated in continuing. i love you all. thank you so much for helping me to become a better writer.
> 
> alright. after that long and uncharacteristically oscar-speech-y note at the beginning of this one, shall we just get into it? i hope you like it. i love you all. xx
> 
> twitter - gryffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

Peter lied when he said he was okay. He just didn’t want James and Sirius to worry about him. On a more pressing note, he doesn’t want to have to sit through his friends’ terrible lies about how this happened if they go to Madam Pomfrey. 

There are several reasons why seeking actual qualified help is a bad plan, the biggest one being that Madam Pomfrey isn’t stupid. She knows they’re Remus’ best friends. She probably knows that they’ll have figured things out – or at least be trying to – by now. She  _definitely_  knows that if someone were to fall down one of the many staircases in the castle, their back wouldn’t be scraped up like this, because the entire castle is made of stone. 

They don’t speak as they huff and puff through the halls towards Gryffindor Tower. James had barely remembered to swing the Cloak over them as they’d gotten inside; it wasn’t as though they’re out past curfew at this point, it’s only about half eight, Peter guesses, but this time it’s more about avoiding questions from anyone who sees a two second years hauling their clearly injured friend around the castle. 

“Wait,” Sirius says breathlessly, stopping abruptly in the hallway. The sharp absence of forward momentum makes the large gash in Peter’s back from the splintered stairs twinge painfully, and he winces. “Sorry. Uh, we can’t go back to the common room right away. It’s not late, people are still gonna be in there, how are we supposed to get Pete through without anyone asking questions?” 

James shrugs, Peter’s arm over his shoulders bobbing up and down with his motion. “I dunno, we have the Cloak, we’ll just take him through.” 

“How are we gonna open the door? We should stop over here, there’s an empty classroom.” 

“We can’t do that, what if we’re stuck out here for a while?  _Then_  how are we gonna get back home without being caught?” 

“It’ll be easier when there aren’t any people around!” 

The bickering goes on for another few minutes. Peter is exhausted. He doesn’t want to listen anymore; his head feels heavy. He wonders if this is what happens when you’ve taken a blow to your brain. He wants to go to sleep, but he doesn’t think he’s supposed to. 

Peter doesn’t fall asleep, though. He's jolted to full consciousness when James wins the argument and they start moving again. They settle on some sort of plan where James will go out from under the Cloak to let them in through the portrait hole and while Peter and Sirius go to the boys’ dorm, James will try and find Lily and convince her to help them. 

After what feels like an eternity, they are within sight of the Fat Lady. James slips out from under the Cloak and Sirius does his best to help Peter along without any more of James’ assistance. Peter thinks he’s able to walk a little more easily, but every motion sends waves of pain through his body and at this point he just wants to stop moving until things stop hurting. 

James gets the door open and helps them through. Perhaps it isn’t the most inconspicuous thing, but as soon as he’s through the portrait hole, James is running through the common room at a full sprint. He skids to a stop at one of the armchairs, grabbing onto it to keep from falling over. 

“Marlene,” Peter hears him say breathlessly. “Where’s Lily, I need to talk to her.” 

Peter can’t see Marlene’s face from his angle, he and Sirius are just reaching the foot of the stairs, but he can guess from her voice that James’ method of approach seems extremely suspicious. “...why?” she asks skeptically. “You’re all sweaty, calm down.” 

“I can’t calm down, I need to talk to her!” 

“Merlin, alright, James, don’t lose your shit, she’ll be down in a second.” 

James is moving again in that minute, just as Lily, as if on cue, comes down the stairs, a roll of parchment in her arms. “Lily!” 

Lily visibly jumps in surprise at his volume. “Hi... James, what’s going on?” 

“Can I – can I ask you something?” James says, taking a moment in the middle of his sentence to readjust his approach. Peter doesn’t know if James had realized it, but to someone who has no idea what was going on, James certainly seems to be coming off very strongly. 

“I - sure,” Lily replies, adjusting the parchment in her arms. “Is it quick, though? I have to finish Flitwick’s essay, I'm almost done with it.” 

“Not particularly,” James replies. Lily must be able to tell that there’s a sense of genuine urgency in the way James is speaking, because she doesn’t brush him off like she normally does. 

Their voices are fading a bit as Peter and Sirius make their way up the stairs. Peter has to hand it to Sirius; he’s managing to get Peter across a remarkable distance without complaining once and while being encouraging and calm. Peter hasn’t really been able to speak this whole time, but the fact that Sirius has somehow managed to maintain a soothing demeanor and tone of voice most of this time is a big motivator in even keeping Peter’s feet moving. 

“What is it?” Lily asks after a pause. 

“I need you to help me with something.” 

“What is it?” she repeats, sounding confused. 

“I - there’s something important that I really need help with and it's not just for me, it’s for Pete, and I need you to promise me you won’t ask questions.” 

“James,  _what_  -” 

“Please,” James interrupts, and there must be something in his tone that makes her listen, something that conveys the earnestness of the moment. “Promise me.” 

“Okay,” Lily says softly. “I promise.” 

“Okay, great, come with me,” James rushes out, and a moment later he and Lily are running up the stairs just as Peter and Sirius are barely getting the door open to the boys’ dorm. 

Peter looks over his shoulder; James is leading the way up the stairs, Lily’s hand in his as he pulls her along with him. 

“Great,” Sirius says, apparently seeing the same thing, “he’s not gonna shut up about that for a month.” 

“Try two,” Peter replies softly. Sirius laughs. 

“Nice to see you still have a little humor left in you, Pete, and that fall didn’t knock it out of you.” Sirius swings the Cloak off of them and throws it across the room onto James’ bed. He helps Peter lie down on his stomach in his own bed by the window just as the door bangs open and James careens in, dragging Lily along with him. 

“Oh, good, you’re here,” James says. “I didn’t hear you come up, I was beginning to worry that Lily would think I had lured her here under false pretenses for some kind of... criminal conversation.” 

“Criminal conversation?” Lily repeats, voice incredulous. 

“Yeah, that’s what they called fucking in the olden days, don’t you pay attention in History of Magic, Evans? Binns talks about it all the time,” Sirius interjects, in the middle of helping Peter get his shirt off. “Anyway, that isn’t the point, come here.” 

Lily gasps, noticing Peter’s position for the first time. “Oh my god, Pete, are you okay?” 

Peter lifts his head, making a face he can only describe as the equivalent of shrugging. It involves a lot of scrunching, and there’s normally a shoulder-motion to go along with it, but in this instance he’d rather keep those still. “I’ve been better.” 

Sirius lets out a low hiss upon getting Peter’s shirt all the way off. “Fuck, this didn’t look as bad in the moonlight.” 

“I think a lot of things looked _worse_  in the moonlight tonight,” James remarks under his breath. Sirius shushes him. 

Lily is still a few steps away. “How did this happen?” she asks softly. 

“Lily,” James says, a slight edge to his voice. “You promised.” 

“Right,” she says, glancing down quickly. “I have a first aid kit in my trunk, I'm gonna be right back.” She dashes out of the room. 

“Do you think she’s actually coming back?” Peter asks, voice slightly muffled by the blanket. 

“Yeah,” James answers softly. “She promised.” 

Sure enough, within a few minutes Lily is rushing back into the room, arms laden with a box with the words  _first aid_ printed across the side in red letters, looking as though it’s seen better days. “Okay,” she says, her words coming out in a rush, “I don’t know that much but I do know that we have to clean all the cuts and bandage them and this big one might need stitches.” 

“ _Stitches_?” Sirius asks, sounding horrified. “What the hell does that mean?” 

“It means that when there’s a big opening, it can’t heal on its own, so you close it up by stitching it together. We should go to Madam Pomfrey for that, by the way,” Lily replies, pulling a bottle of something labeled _antiseptic_ out of her box. Peter is only vaguely familiar with some of these terms, as his mum is a witch but his other mum is a Muggle, so there’s a mix of magical and non-magical methods for healing in their house. 

“That’s  _disgusting_ , isn’t there a spell for that?” 

“I’m sure there is, and I'm sure Madam Pomfrey would be able to do it quickly, but –" 

“No,” James interjects quickly. “We can’t go to her, we need you.” 

Lily lets out a long breath. “Alright, but this isn’t gonna be pretty. I'm  _really_  inexperienced so if this gets fucked up, I'm telling Madam Pomfrey.” 

“Thanks,” Peter says softly against the blanket. Lily reaches out and puts a hand on his head, smoothing his hair in a way that reminds him of being a little kid. 

“Sorry, Pete, this is gonna be a bitch,” Lily says, putting a cotton ball over the opening of the antiseptic bottle and tipping it over so that it soaks in. She puts it to one of the cuts on his back and Peter can only guess that the pain kicks in on a new level, because that’s the last thing he remembers for a while. 

Peter wakes up to hazy, soft light and the sound of James and Sirius bickering in hushed voices. From what he can tell, it’s a few hours later; not late enough that they’d have gone to bed yet, but enough time has passed that his friends are sitting on the floor instead of still at his side. 

Forgetting for a moment about his injuries, Peter tries to sit up, instead letting out a gasp of pain at the motion. 

“Pete!” Sirius calls sharply from the floor, standing and rushing over to him. James is only a few steps behind. “Don’t sit up, you’ve got bandages.” 

“Did I have to get stitches?” Peter mumbles against the pillow. 

“No, Lily found a spell and managed to make it work after a few tries,” James says. He sits down on his bed, right next to Peter’s. “How are you feeling?” 

“Not great,” Peter replies. He turns his head more to the side to look at James straight on. Sirius has sat down next to him. With some difficulty, Peter props himself up on his elbows so that he isn’t lying completely inert while having a conversation that he’s sure will turn into something bigger. “Though I'd guess that Remus is doing worse than I am.” 

James and Sirius exchange a look. Clearly, this is what they’d been speaking about moments before, when Peter had been waking up. 

None of them speak for a moment. Peter thinks that maybe they don’t really know how to proceed. 

“I was right,” James says softly. “That was one of my theories.” 

“That isn’t something you should be bragging about, James,” Sirius replies, frowning. 

“What, it could have been a lot of things! It's impressive that I even got close.” 

“Yeah, but it – it isn’t as though this is the result that would’ve been the best.” 

“He can’t control that,” Peter says. He picks at the edge of his pillowcase. “It’s not his fault.” 

“No, I  _know_ that, I'm just saying.” Sirius trails off, as though he’s trying to find the right words. “I wish he was safer.” 

James snorts. “Safer? What do you mean, safer? He's not a menace to society, he isn’t going to kill us.” 

“Some people would argue that he is,” Sirius retorts, then shuts his mouth quickly, looking ashamed of himself for saying that. “Shit. I didn’t mean that.” 

“I know,” Peter says. “Argument for argument’s sake.” 

“Yeah.” 

There's a pause. 

“So what are we going to do?” James asks finally. 

“We need to talk to him about it, don’t we?” 

“Pete, it isn’t like we’ll get the chance to until after Christmas, the way he was talking was like he’s going home... I guess tomorrow, since he was saying that he was going today.” 

“Is that where he goes every full moon?” James wonders quietly. “All alone?” 

“Yeah, I - I would guess so.” 

Another pause. 

“What are we going to do?” 

Peter doesn’t know what to think. He wishes he knew what to do in that moment. He doesn’t think he has – or ever will have – a problem with Remus being a werewolf. It isn’t like that’s something he can control, it isn’t like he’s being a dickhead for no reason or something. It's a condition. 

Peter doesn’t know much about the next steps that they should be taking or even the current situation as a whole, but he is sure about several key things. 

The first thing he is sure about is that there is no way in hell, if he has anything to say about it, that they’re abandoning Remus because of his condition. Peter thinks about how hard Remus has tried to keep this a secret – he thinks back on all the quick thinking he must’ve had to do and the lying and the spending cold nights in a dilapidated shack all on his own, sure that if someone found out that he’d lose everyone that was important to him in a single instant – and knows that if he has any sway over the next events that happen with the four of them that there is no way they’re leaving Remus without friends. 

He's sure that some people would leave a loved one in this situation. Peter is only twelve, but he likes to think he’s a better person than that. 

The second thing that Peter’s sure about is that he doesn’t want to let Remus spend the moons alone anymore. That house, even if there were no memories associated with painful transformations and nights spent trapped there once a month, was a nightmare from the moment that they entered it. Peter thinks that whoever built it didn’t put much stock into making it nice. He isn’t sure if it was nice once and it’s been used as a facility now that it’s fallen into disrepair, slightly renovated for these purposes, or if it was specifically built for this reason, but he knows that that’s a hell of a place to spend the worst moments of your life, and it must be even fucking worse if it’s impossible to confide in your closest friends about it. 

The third and final thing that Peter is sure of in that moment is that no matter how much he, James and Sirius may or may not want to help Remus make things better, he has no fucking clue how to do that without putting themselves in danger. He doesn’t hold anything that happened tonight against Remus – the little he knows about werewolves tells him that they don’t have any real control over what they do once they transform – but he knows that without some sort of precautions, there’s no way they can be with him during those full moons without putting themselves in danger. 

Peter has no idea what the precautions they need to take might be, but he knows that they need to take them. 

He's made up his mind almost completely after a few moments of silence following James’ second time asking  _what are we going to do_. Peter opens his mouth to answer the question, but is cut off by Sirius quietly saying, “I don’t know, but we aren’t gonna leave him, at the very least.” 

The clock tower on the grounds tolls for eleven o’clock in the distance. The chimes and the night are, once again, punctuated by the sharp howling of a wolf. James stands, looks out the window, and then reaches into his trunk to pull out a piece of parchment and one of Peter’s pens that he’d stolen a few weeks ago. 

“So,” James says, settling back onto the bed with the parchment on a book so that he can write, the whole setup resting on his knee, “where are we beginning?” 


	13. in which remus spirals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. here we are again. it's sunday and i'm back with another emotionally devastating chapter. i can genuinely say that about this one. i apologize in advance. many of you were wondering about how remus felt about everything and what a hard time he must have been having over christmas and how he's going to deal with it when he comes back. well, i'm happy to say that all your questions - and more! - will be answered in the ensuing chapter!
> 
> i don't know why i'm pitching this like it's a cleaning product and i'm billy mays. you're already this far.
> 
> a brief moment of celebration - we broke 40k!! in total, ahmicb is now over 80k and we are still going! i'm very excited to see where this is going and i would not be nearly as motivated to continue this without your endless support.
> 
> anyway. i hope you enjoy! i've already written the chapter coming Next sunday and let me tell you prepare yourselves for that one as well. thank you for your support, as always. i love u. xxx
> 
> twitter - gryffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

The wolf went wild this time. Something about this moon was different and Remus can’t seem to remember why. To be fair, he never remembers much about it, just vague flashes of events that he wishes he couldn’t call to mind and new wounds on his body by the morning, but this time was different. This time the wolf was angry. This time... Remus isn’t sure he wants to think much about this time. It was like the wolf had something within its grasp that it had wanted for a long time, and when that slipped away, it had taken its revenge on him. 

Remus doesn’t know what it was that the wolf got close to. He knows what a few of the possibilities are, an that makes him feel sick to his stomach. 

He spends half a day in the hospital wing, hidden behind the curtains the whole time. Madam Pomfrey came and got him from the Shack just as the sun had begun peeking over the horizon, bundling him up in a thick blanket and helping him shuffle into the castle in a remarkably quick affair. Remus had been sitting on his usual bed in the hospital wing since then, bored and punctuating the morning with short naps. 

For the life of him, he can’t - he can’t remember what happened last night. Something was different. Something was different about  _before_ , but... it’s just out of reach. It feels like the memory Remus is trying to grab is slick and cold like a shard of ice; every time he gets his hand around an edge it shoots out of his grasp. 

Remus knows that the last few minutes before the wolf rips out of him always haze out of existence for him. He's never been able to fully get back those memories for the entire two-thirds of his life that he’s been dealing with this, but sometimes if he tries harder than he usually cares to, he can get  _some_  of them to regain some form of clarity. 

There's a small part of him that’s being pretty fucking insistent that he needs to do that this time. 

He sits with his legs tucked in a cross legged position, his back aching as though he’d been slammed against something, a cut on the side of his face healing faster than it would for a normal boy, doodling on a little notepad and writing down anything he can manage to think of that would help him figure out what was wrong this time. 

He would know if the wolf got out, right? There would be something in the news. There would be someone coming to tell him about it. There would – there would be someone coming to take him away. He wouldn’t go home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t be sitting in the hospital wing for so long. He would’ve woken up somewhere other than the Shack. Right? 

Remus has to convince himself that this, at least, has to be the truth. 

Madam Pomfrey brings him lunch and he eats and changes into his own clothes and shoves his scribble-covered notepad into his bag. He Floos home and hugs his parents and manages to convince them that he needs to go to bed, which doesn’t take much effort, considering he’s always a wreck after the moon. His mum takes one look at him and, after a hug that’s hard enough to make him feel simultaneously crushed and comforted, like he’s a baby being swaddled again, kisses him on the forehead and tells him to go rest. 

Remus proceeds to do what all kids his age do, and lingers at the top of the stairs before going to his room, listening as hard as he can to his parents’ hushed voices. 

“Did you see him, Lyall?” his mother is asking. Remus’ heart wrenches in his chest at how distressed she sounds. He thinks she might start crying. “He’s - he looks so  _tired_.” 

“I know,” his father replies. His voice sounds so heavy that Remus can almost envision him sinking into the floor. “He had a rough night last night, Hope, he’ll be okay.” 

“Will he?” His mother takes a deep, shaky breath. “I honestly don’t know at this point.” 

His father replies, but Remus has stopped listening. He stands and tiptoes down the hall to his room. 

He spends the rest of the afternoon sitting on his bed and thinking about why everything feels off and if he should write a letter to his friends. 

He doesn’t. 

 _Dear Remus,_  

 _I don’t know why we start letters like that. Yes, you’re dear to me, but dear enough that I address things to you with ‘dear’? I don’t know about that. We tolerate each other._  

 _That's a lie. I'm teasing. Anyway, you might think it’s stupid that I'm writing you a letter already, but considering you left early, I figured I should fill you in on what you missed during the last two days of_ _term_ _._  

 _As I'm writing this, I’m realizing that not much happened. James threw a rock at Snape in the courtyard on the last day of term, but he missed and it went through one of the windows in the entrance hall. He had a good_ _reason,_ _Snape was talking shit. I can’t remember exactly what it was about, but I know it was big enough that James needed to chuck a rock at his head. Anyway, McGonagall was passing at that time and we were literally on our way to the train station, so it wasn’t as though she could keep him for a detention as we would miss the train, so he has a week’s worth when he comes back and he has to write an essay about how resorting to physical violence to solve emotional problems is barbaric and something_ _cavemen_ _would do. I was_ _gonna_ _throw something too, but I dropped it when James’ rock went through the window. Pete, being an angel, didn’t throw or threaten to throw anything. Probably also because, as you know, he fell down the stairs on Wednesday night and he’s still_ _kinda_ _fucked up from that. His arms don’t work that well for intense throwing. But he’s alright._  

 _Anyway. I'm home now. Big family Christmas gala coming up on the 24t_ _h_ _. I wish I_ _could invite you guys, but I don’t think my parents would approve. It's an exclusive guest list, for some reason. Plus, it’s at my uncle Cygnus’ house this year, and I think he would be even worse about me bringing guests without at least three months’ notice._  

 _I hope you’re having a good holiday. We missed you on the last few days._ _Ew_ _, that was sappy. Forget I said that. See you soon._  

 _Sirius_  

Christmas comes and goes. It's a quiet affair; his grandparents come over and there’s dinner and presents and music in the background. Remus is a little preoccupied; he thinks he’s starting to remember something about that night, but he isn’t sure. 

He isn’t sure about anything at all, really. He’s been spending most of his nights sitting on his bed and looking out the window at the steadily waning moon, feeling his heart swell with the fuller beats that come with a lessening of his anxiety. Normally he starts to feel better around this time of the month, like he’s settling into _his_  body again, but right now all he can focus on is the vague feeling like there’s a weight deep in his chest. 

Remus is  _certain_  that this knot of dread is because he’s missing something. For a while he was afraid that it was because he was missing a part of himself when he changed back into his own body, like when he came  back  he didn’t come back whole, but now he thinks it’s something to do with what happened before he transformed. He  _knows_  that it was different, he just... can’t put his finger on why or what  _happened._  

He doesn’t answer Sirius’ letter. He tried, several times, but when he put a pen to the paper his hand wouldn’t move. The most he managed to get out was  _dear Sirius, I'm okay_ , before his hand stilled and he’d had to scrap the now-useless paper. 

Maybe that’s because Remus isn’t sure he  _is_ okay. 

Before he knows it, before he’s  _ready_ for it, he’s packing his things and they’re Floo-ing to London so Remus can take the train with his friends. Remus has never felt more in his head than he does right now, he’s never felt more out of touch with himself, with the things that are going on around him. 

His mother asks him if he’s okay. He nods. She says he’s been quiet the entire time he’s been home. He shrugs. 

Remus sees James across the platform when they’re about to get on the train. He speeds up, starting to make his way over; James is joined by Peter and Sirius and they stand together in a little knot, laughing at something Peter said. 

They haven’t seen Remus yet. He raises his hand, about to call out to them, when Sirius turns slightly, noticing him, and his face lights up, but there’s something about the way they’re now situated next to the train, something about their positioning, their posture, the way they’re standing together, that makes the swirling eddy of dread under Remus’ diaphragm suddenly lash out with a sharp  _snap_. 

He stops in his tracks, almost stumbles, catches his breath with a ragged, barely suppressed gasp. 

It's like seeing them was the last thing he needed to unlock that final missing piece to the memory he’s been trying to get at this whole time. Remus can’t explain how he knows – he doesn’t even have a clear picture in his mind of the events that went down, but he  _knows_. 

They were there. During his last moon, the thing that was different, the thing that was wrong was them being there. The wolf was angry because they’d been so close, he knows now, with a sick twist of his stomach, that it was close to tearing them apart, that they hadn’t  _known_  what they’d been walking into, that he could’ve killed them and he wouldn’t have even been cognizant enough to stop the monster clawing out of him. 

Fuck, he thinks he might be sick. 

“Remus!” Peter calls, seeing him just after Sirius does. 

Sirius' letter said that Peter had fallen down the stairs. That he was hurt enough to not be able to throw something. That he’d been injured but Sirius had been vague enough about it that Remus had brushed it off, thinking that it was just a normal thing. 

He knows it wasn’t. 

“Hey,” Remus manages weakly in response, the words coming out in more breath than actual sound, and he doesn’t know how to not show them every fucking thought running through his head right now. 

Remus doesn’t remember greeting his friends or saying goodbye to his parents or getting on the train. He spends the entire ride north looking out the window and making small noises of assent when the conversation prompts it. He wants to fall asleep so that no one talks to him and he doesn’t have to pretend to be listening to the conversation anymore, but his mind is racing at a million miles per hour and he can’t stop it even if he were to try. 

To their credit, his friends don’t push him to engage in conversation. Of course they don’t, Remus thinks. They know what happened. They know everything is different now. What Remus can’t figure out is why they’re still being so nice to him. 

They're going to leave him, that much is inevitable. He knows this. He’s known that was going to happen from the instant that he made friends with them. Remus does not and never has underestimated the intelligence of his three closest friends in the world; he’s always known that they were going to figure this out. He had just hoped to have more time with them before he did. 

Remus thinks that they’re still treating him like a friend because they don’t know what to do at this point. All he can assume is that they don’t know that he knows they were there. Or maybe they _do_ , and they’re just all going to collectively never speak of the incident again. Remus thinks that might be the best way to go about this situation, but that this option, despite being the least painful of the possibilities, would make them fade out of his life slowly, rather than in one fell swoop. 

At least he can assume that they haven’t told anyone. It isn’t as though Remus has had a lot of people other than his three friends speaking to him today, which he assumes would be different if the entire school were to know that he’s a werewolf. No, he can safely say for the moment that everything is pretty much the same, if not for the fact that he feels a bit like his friends are walking on eggshells around him. 

It's fine, he thinks. He'd rather have them walking on eggshells around him than not at all. At least they’re around. 

He's quiet on the train ride and he’s quiet on the way up to the castle in the carriages and he’s quiet at dinner and he’s quiet in their room when they’re settling in again. Everyone else is quiet too; there seems to be a (literally) unspoken agreement to follow his example. 

Remus pretends not to notice James attempting to have a telepathic conversation with Sirius using only eye and eyebrow motions. When it gets to the point that James is writing things on a notepad and sneakily showing it to Sirius so that he can get his message across, Remus decides he’s had enough and goes to the bathroom. 

It's quiet and dark in there, the cool tile interior centering him in a calming sort of way. 

“Okay,” Remus says to his reflection. He hates his reflection right now. The boy in the mirror is skinny and pale and tired-looking and has a faint scar running across his left cheek. Remus frowns at himself, scrunching his eyebrows down. He isn’t sure why he’s doing this. Maybe to practice his game face for when his friends stop being his friends in a few minutes. Maybe to convince himself that he won’t cry. He really hopes he doesn’t cry. At least not in front of them. 

He takes a deep breath, scrubs a hand through his hair and down his face as though it’ll make him ready to face the world, and looks at his reflection square in the eye this time. 

Remus would like to think the boy looking back at him is more determined this time. Maybe even a little brave. 

“Okay,” he repeats. He opens the door and steps back into their room, ready for the worst. 

What he isn’t expecting – and what his friends have clearly taken some time to plan – is the three of them sitting on what look like makeshift chairs made from multiple pillows each, in a circle on the floor. When Remus steps out of the bathroom, his friends all look up at him expectantly. 

“Remus,” Sirius says in a tone vaguely reminiscent of a politician. “Won’t you sit down?” 

“Uh, alright.” 

James clears his throat once Remus takes a seat. “We’re so glad you could join us today.” 

Remus looks around. “I live here.” 

“Okay, let me have this, I'm enjoying playing talk show host.” 

“Do you even know what a talk show is?” 

“Peter Maxwell Pettigrew, why do you undermine me at every turn? Does that bring you joy? Does it give you any socioeconomic gain? Why would you do this to me?” 

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know. It feels like my job at this point.” 

“Anyway,” Sirius interrupts. “We’re gathered here today to discuss something... important.” 

“Oh?” Remus asks, feigning innocence and sweating. “What’s that?” 

The other boys exchange a look. “We think you’re a pathological liar.” 

Remus can feel his heart beating in every goddamn pore of his skin. “Why do you say that?” 

“We...” Peter says. “We know you’re not going home every month, we followed you and saw you go under the Whomping Willow with Madam Pomfrey.” 

Remus is going to be sick. He wishes they would hurry up and get to the point. He wishes he could force the words out of his mouth to make the inevitable happen already. He wishes, he wishes, he wishes. 

“You,” he begins, but the words come out all hoarsely and he has to stop. “You shouldn’t have followed me.” 

“Look, I know it wasn’t any of our business, but we wanted to see if you were safe and that nothing bad was happening to you,” James rushes out. 

“Well, I don’t know what you saw, but –” Remus tries to say as carefully as he can, but he’s cut off. 

“Oh my god, Remus, cut the shit, we know you’re a werewolf,” Sirius bursts out, clearly frustrated with the lack of speed in the conversation. 

Remus feels like the ground was just pulled out from beneath his feet. He feels like he was just shoved out the window of Gryffindor Tower and he’s falling faster than light towards the ground. He feels like he was just slammed in the chest with a boulder. 

He feels like an idiot for thinking he could have this. 

But all he says in the moment is, “Oh.” 


	14. in which sirius tries to backtrack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xxx new chapter this one is kinda soft i hope u like it
> 
> twitter - gryffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

In retrospect, Sirius shouldn’t have delivered the line like that. It had just come flying out of his mouth like he hadn’t been able to control it. 

They’d been waiting all day for Remus to say something. Before they’d left school a few weeks ago they’d decided that they were going to wait for Remus to come to them, that they’d let him broach the subject, that it would be on his terms and they’d listen to what he had to say before saying anything themselves. 

But after nearly a full day of waiting for something,  _anything_ , to come out of Remus’ mouth – honestly, Sirius thinks Remus has never been this unresponsive at any point during the entire time they’ve known each other – it had become evident that if they didn’t bring up the subject, it would never get spoken about. 

Remus had gone to the bathroom and Sirius had taken the opportunity to organize a little sitting area. It looks a bit like he’d been intending for them to have a séance, but he’d brushed that aside.  

Sirius doesn’t regret bringing up the subject. He doesn’t think it’s a bad thing to get over the initial moment of edging around a topic that they’ve been tiptoeing past all day, but he does wish he hadn’t said it the way he did. 

Remus, looking down at his hands, knotted together in his lap, knuckles going white from the pressure, says in the softest voice Sirius has ever heard from him, “Oh.” 

“Fuck,” Sirius says under his breath. It comes out in a hiss. “I’m sorry, that came out worse than I wanted it to.” 

Remus looks up, eyes bright and jaw set. “How did you want it to?” 

“I don’t know. Better than that.” There’s a pause. 

“Well?” Remus says sharply. “Someone say something.” 

James opens his mouth, closes it, frowns, then repeats the process. Remus raises his eyebrows. 

“You need some help figuring out what to say, James?” 

“No, I – huh.” James scrunches his eyebrows. “So you weren’t fighting a magical bear?” 

“A  _what_?” 

“Fucking hell, James, not this again.” 

“We were literally with him in the Shack, you _know_  it wasn’t a bear!” 

James points at Sirius. “Maybe, Sirius, the real magical bear was inside us all along.” 

“That… makes no fucking sense,” Remus says slowly. “There’s no bear, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Peter sighs gustily, leaning back against the foot of the bed they’re closest to. “James had a whole bunch of weird theories about where you could be going. Sirius and I tried to tell him that he was wrong but he seemed to think a theory about you having a contract with a magical bear that you had to fight once a month was the most plausible out of all of them.” 

The corner of Remus’ mouth perks up a tiny bit but almost immediately flattens back down to its previous position. “What were the other theories?” 

“Well, well, well,” James says smugly. “Look what we have here, someone actually wanting to hear what I have to say.” 

“Yeah, don’t get used to it.” 

“You’re just bitter that one of your theories didn’t end up being accurate, Sirius, and you know what? It’s immature of you to take that disappointment in yourself out on me.” 

Sirius throws his hands in the air. “I tried to tell you that there was nothing wrong with Remus! Also, that it wasn’t our business to begin with!” 

“Too late for backtracking on those, though,” Remus replies. “I mean, you were right on one of them, it isn’t really your business, but you found out anyway.” 

“What, I’m not right about there being nothing wrong with you?” Sirius asks, his voice coming out slightly brittle. 

Remus shrugs, but there’s something careful about the motion, and his eyes are glittering again with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. “Well. You saw what happened.” 

Sirius doesn’t reply for a moment. He’s so still that he feels as though his spine is coiled into a permanently still position; he feels like time stills and he has to think about what he should say on an  _acute_  level before actually responding. 

He wishes he could figure out more clearly what it is that he needs to tell Remus in that moment. He wishes he knew what exactly he could say that would make Remus feel better about the situation. He wishes he knew what Remus is  _scared_  about, he should know that they’re not going to –  _oh_.

Two things click into place at once for Sirius. 

“You didn’t know,” he says softly. “You didn’t know that we were there until today and you think we’re gonna stop being friends with you because of this.” 

Remus doesn’t reply. 

“Why would – why would you think that?” James falters, sounding confused as to why Remus would come to that conclusion. “Remus, we’re ride or die.” 

Remus just snorts lightly. He’s picking at the corner of the pillow he’s sitting on, and he pulls a thread completely loose from the fabric, flicking it to the side before responding. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” 

“Why do you think I don’t mean it?” James sounds genuinely surprised at Remus’ statement, so much so that Remus looks a bit taken aback. 

Remus’ eyebrows, which had been scrunched down into a defensive furrow, shoot upwards. “I don’t know, how the fuck  _could_ you mean it? This – this  _thing_ ,” he forces out, gesturing vaguely to himself, “that I have going on doesn’t exactly allow for close relationships.” 

“You dummy, why the fuck would that be the case?” Peter asks gently. “We were with you then, and we were fine.” 

“But you  _weren’t_ fine, I don’t know why you keep trying to act like you  _are_ ,” Remus replies, his breath coming faster and hitching a little as he struggles to get his words out. “Peter fell down the fucking  _stairs_  because of me, I know he was hurt but none of you will put the blame where it needs to be, even though I  _know_ it’s my fault!” 

“It isn’t your –” Peter begins, but Remus doesn’t want to hear it. 

“It _is_!” Remus replies, the pitch of his voice climbing almost to a shout. He stands up suddenly, shooting to his feet faster than Sirius was expecting, and he jerks back in reflex. “I can’t do this right now,” he rushes out, and before Sirius can even fully process what’s happening, Remus is out the door. 

They sit in silence for a moment. 

“Do we go after him?” James asks. “I – I kind of feel like he needs space, but. You know. I don’t want to leave him alone.” 

“Maybe we figure out something in the middle?” Peter scratches his head. “Like, just one of us. So he doesn’t feel overwhelmed.” 

“That’s remarkably insightful of you, Pete. You angel.” 

“Thanks, James.” 

“I’ll go,” Sirius says quietly. “Can I use the Cloak in case I need to find him?” 

After getting James’ approval to borrow the Cloak and venturing out of the dorm, Sirius is surprised to see that he doesn’t have to go far to find Remus: he’s sitting at their usual spot in front of the fire, curled into a ball in one of the armchairs, watching the fire. 

Sirius isn’t sure what to say at first. Should he wait for Remus to speak first? Should he swoop in with some sort of speech? Should he tell Remus that no matter what he’s thinking right now, they don’t have any plans to leave him? Should he say something about how they’ve never, not once in this entire time since they’d found out, thought any less of him or wanted to stop speaking to him for something he can’t control? Should he tell Remus that he’s sorry that they followed him? Should he say that none of this is Remus’ fault and he needs to stop blaming himself? 

Should he say something infinitely more eloquent and heartfelt and effective in making Remus feel better? Yes, probably, but Sirius can’t seem to figure out what the exact phrasing of that, or anything else he’s been contemplating, would be, so he settles for, “Hey.” 

Remus doesn’t respond. Sirius sits down on the sofa next to the armchair and lets Remus be silent for a few moments more. 

Eventually, he pokes his friend on the leg. “Remus, I said  _hey_.” 

Remus swats Sirius’ hand away. “Hey yourself.” 

“There it is,” Sirius says triumphantly. He pauses for a minute. “Remus, I…” 

“You what?” Remus asks, looking back into the fire again. “Don’t ask me if I’m okay.” 

“I wasn’t going to.” 

“Good.” 

Sirius hesitates before saying, “I was going to tell you that it doesn’t matter.” 

Remus sounds exhausted when he replies, “What doesn’t matter?” 

“You. Having this… thing. It doesn’t matter.” 

“What do you – of  _course_  it matters, how could it not?” 

“Not to us. Not in any ways that are real.” 

Remus scoffs but doesn’t interrupt. Sirius takes this as an invitation to continue. 

“Look, when I say it doesn’t matter, I mean this doesn’t mean anything in terms of how we see you.” 

“How could it not,” Remus says. His voice comes out dry and flat and guarded. 

Sirius doesn’t know what to do with his hands or what he’s supposed to say or how to comfort someone who thinks that a core part of their being is going to cause their best friends to leave them. 

“It… it just doesn’t,” Sirius says softly. Something about his tone must’ve held the sincerity he’s been trying to convey, because Remus actually turns his head to look at Sirius at that. “You have to know that we care about you more than that.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Sirius replies. “I thought that was obvious. How shitty would we be to stop being friends with you over something like this?” 

Remus shrugs. He seems to think for a moment, then asks, “But what about Pete?” 

“What  _about_ Pete?” 

“I think I threw him down the stairs.” 

“Okay, I was there, you didn’t throw him down the stairs, his stupid flappy jeans got caught on a nail _by_  the stairs and when he pulled himself free he lost his balance and fell the entire way down. He’s fine. It wasn’t your fault.”

Remus frowns. “What the fuck, he let me take the blame for that? I’ve been feeling shitty about this all day and he didn’t correct me once? Dick move.” 

Sirius laughs a little, glad that Remus seems to be loosening up. “I mean, to be fair, I don’t think you ever explicitly said that you thought you threw him down the stairs until just now.” He pauses. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Why not, I guess.” 

“Were you hoping that we wouldn’t bring it up and that’s why you didn’t say anything at all earlier today?” 

Remus doesn’t answer right away, instead twisting into a sideways position in the armchair so that his legs are dangling over one of the arms and the other is supporting his back. “I guess? I also didn’t remember that you were even there until I saw you at the train station.” 

“Why?” 

“I dunno. I don’t always remember what happens right before the… transformation.” He lowers his voice on the last word; they’ve been speaking quietly enough and there’s only a few other students on the other side of the common room, but Sirius understands the reasoning. 

He realizes that now that they know, they’re going to have to be more conscious of not talking about it anywhere that anyone else can hear. He thinks back on the times that other students, Snape particularly, have tried to get in Remus’ business and find out what’s going on with him. 

Sirius feels like the biggest cunt on the face of the earth for not realizing a. how shitty that is and b. how he, James, and Peter did that exact thing to Remus until just now. 

“Remus, I’m sorry.” 

Remus blinks in surprise at the slight but sudden change in topic. “Oh.” 

“We shouldn’t have followed you, it was your business.” Pause. Sirius doesn’t think he and Remus have ever had a conversation this heavy and hesitant in their whole friendship. “I think… I think we were mostly concerned because of the – you know, the injuries. But part of it was morbid curiosity and that wasn’t okay.” 

“It wasn’t,” Remus agrees. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’m mad. Not right now, at least.” 

“Can I ask another question?” 

Remus huffs out a little breath that Sirius thinks might be a laugh. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

“I was, uh, expecting you to have gone farther when you left earlier.” 

“That isn’t a question, Sirius.” 

“Shut up, I meant to ask why you stayed in the common room.” 

Remus looks away, cutting his eyes to the other side of the room in a kind of sheepish motion. “I forgot my shoes.” 

“Wow,” Sirius says, giggling through his words, “not only are you a werewolf, you’re a forgetful idiot of one.” 

Remus, with some difficulty, sticks his socked foot out as far as it can reach over the arm of the chair and tries his best to kick Sirius in the face, who dodges it successfully and just ends up with a light brush on his arm. Sliding back into his original position, Remus replies, “And not only are _you_  a pain in my arse, unfortunately, you’re a somewhat tolerable one.” 

“Oh, are you going soft on me, Lupin? I thought you were better than that.” 

“Soft on  _you,_ Black? That’s disgusting, I would never.” 

They sit for a few minutes more in companionable silence, Sirius watching the fire crackle and Remus with his head hanging backwards so that he’s looking at everything upside-down. 

“We should go back up,” Sirius says finally, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah, James is probably losing his mind with worry by now.” 

“Another few minutes and he’ll call for McGonagall to go find us.” 

“Well, we can’t have that.” 

Sirius stands, holding out his hand and pulling Remus up from his lounging position. As they walk back towards the stairs to go to their room, Sirius adds, “Thanks for not being mad.” 

“Hey, I didn’t promise that it won’t happen once the initial shock wears off.” 

“Well. Thanks anyway.” 

“Thanks for not, you know. Leaving. Or telling anyone.” Remus stops walking. “I’m  _assuming_  you haven’t told anyone, as I haven’t been accosted by our delightful fellow students or the authorities yet.” 

Sirius is almost affronted. “Why would you think I would tell anyone? James and Pete didn’t either, we know it’s not our secret to tell.” 

“Well. I wasn’t sure.” 

“I won’t be mad about your lack of faith in me if you’re not mad about our investigation.” 

“Okay, that’s not a fair compromise, the jury’s still out on me being mad.” 

Sirius doesn’t say anything. They get to the top of the stairs and Remus reaches for the doorknob, but before he touches it, Sirius says, “Wait,” and when Remus turns, he hugs him quickly and fiercely. 

When Sirius lets go, Remus looks confused. “What was that for?” 

Sirius shrugs, slightly self-conscious about his decision. “I don’t know. It felt right.” 

“Okay, you sap.” 

“Shut up. It also felt like you haven’t eaten anything in three years, why the fuck are you so skinny?” 

Remus snorts and reaches for the doorknob again. “I’m in the middle of a growth spurt, leave me alone, hobbit.” 

“That was a low blow,” Sirius replies. “Don’t make a joke about that.” 

Remus gasps mockingly. “Oh, Sirius, I would never, what kind of a gentleman do you take me for? Certainly not a very good one.” 

“I can’t stand you. Remind me why I’m being nice to you again?” 

“Because I’m about to be the buffer between you and James’ endless, stressed questions?” Remus asks, opening the door.  

They’re greeted by a blast of sound that Sirius can only identify as James shrieking and Peter telling him to  _shut the fuck up, oh my god_ , and in spite of the multitude of ways this evening could’ve made nearly everything important to him go to shit, in spite of the knot in his stomach that’s trying to get him to focus solely on worrying about Remus, he looks at his friends and the thought on the forefront of his mind is that he’s lucky. 


	15. in which james is a hit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! i'm so sorry this is a bit late, i had a very busy weekend and pretty much my whole family was in town. on top of that, my twitter got suspended. rip gryffsirius.... anyway my new twitter account is gryfffsirius, with an extra f. please follow me there if you'd like!
> 
> anyway, thank you for being patient. on the bright side, ahmicb was featured on wolfstar warehouse! that's a big thing because they usually don't rec unfinished series(es?), but they seem to like this! 
> 
> thank you everyone for all your support, as usual. to make up for the lack of posting on the usual day, i'm going to be uploading a special little oneshot later ;) hope u enjoy!!
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated. love you all xxx
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

Peter had thought there would be a tangible shift in the dynamic of the group since the big reveal; there were no more secrets between them, as far as he knows, so he’d thought that maybe there would be some kind of change in the way they act around each other. That isn’t to say that he  _wanted_ a change, but more that he thought that something would feel slightly new and different and that they’d get used to it and eventually forget that it had been any other way. 

However, the changes that they come across are far less noticeable than Peter had anticipated, particularly given that such a big reveal had happened. But things settle back into normal rhythm when they wake up the next morning, so quickly that Peter almost forgot that something changed. They rush around their room before breakfast, throwing their things frantically out of their trunks as none of them had the foresight to unpack anything the night before, hitting each other with various articles of clothing and yelling about each other's carelessness before proceeding to take the exact same action. 

“Has anyone seen my tie?” James asks, voice slightly muffled by the location of his head inside his trunk. 

“You only have one?” Peter replies, in the midst of tying his own. 

James straightens up, head popping out of his trunk, sitting back on his heels. His shirt is buttoned haphazardly, with one side of his collar sticking up higher than the other. “Why would I need more than one?” 

“They - they give us three when we start, you know, just in case,” Sirius says. “How did you lose all three of them?” 

“There have been  _fifteen_  ties floating around this room for the past year and a half and I didn’t know?” 

“Okay, what’s more frightening than you not knowing the inventory of your own wardrobe is the fact that you apparently don’t know basic maths, either,” Remus says. “James, work with me, there are four of us and we each have three ties. How many ties are there?” 

James blinks. “Fifteen, I already said that.” 

“I -  _no_ ,” Remus replies, sounding like an exasperated parent trying to help their child understand a concept after sitting with them at the kitchen table going over it for two hours already. “No, that’s not right.” 

“James can’t do basic maths and he doesn’t know what Muggle diseases are. This isn’t new,” Sirius says, hopping off of his bed where he’d been sitting to tie his shoes, and walking over to the wardrobe. He grabs a tie from one of the hooks inside of the door and chucks it at James’ head. “Here.” 

“What if I lose it again?” 

“Mate, just keep it with your glasses,” Sirius replies easily. 

“I lose them all the time!” 

“And they’re always on your head!” Peter interjects. “You’re fine!” 

They manage to make it out of their room with just enough time to scarf down some breakfast before rushing to their first lesson of the day. Defense Against the Dark Arts hasn’t been much of an event this year, given the fact that their professor isn’t actively working for You-Know-Who and collecting information about their headmaster and the school population for his benefit, but Peter has still found it interesting enough. The downside, as James loudly remarks every time they sit down at their desks, is that they have the lesson with the Slytherins. 

Peter would even go so far as to say that the sharing of the classroom wouldn’t even be bad if not for one Slytherin in particular. It isn’t as though Peter thinks highly of most of the Slytherins that he’s interacted with, but there isn’t a single student he’s encountered that he dislikes more than Severus Snape.  

Snape is consistently the instigator when it comes to starting shit between their own House and his. Peter thinks that because he’s had bad blood with James since they first met on the Hogwarts Express, he’s decided to talk shit literally every opportunity that he has, even going so far as to physically provoke James several times. 

Peter doesn’t understand the logic of that one – James is about four inches taller than Snape and has been consistently training with his Quidditch team at home for three years already. At the very least, he can run faster and has longer endurance than Snape does. Peter doesn’t think it’ll ever come to physical violence, but if it does, he knows who he’s betting on. 

The class settles in and James announces at an ear-splitting volume about how he would rather take only History of Magic, all day, every day, for the rest of his time at Hogwarts, than have to spend another second breathing in Snape’s body odor. 

“You’ll have to transfer schools to get away from that, James,” Sirius says after James finishes decimating Snape’s self-esteem. “You might even have to leave the country.” 

“Oh, how will we survive without you,” Remus remarks dryly. 

“Surviving without one member of your little posse seems to be something you’re used to, Lupin, seeing as you disappear to who knows where every month, so I doubt you’d have a difficult time coping without Potter,” Snape cuts in snidely, finally responding to James’ withering insults. 

“Notice he didn’t deny the issue of his stench,” James says in a stage-whisper. 

“Notice I don’t give a fuck what you have to say,” Snape snaps back.  

“Language, Snape,” their professor says from the front of the classroom, signaling that class is about to begin.  

“Ooh, someone got in trouble,” Sirius says in a sing-song tone under his breath. “That’s what happens when you use dirty, base language like that, Severus. Those new fancy friends of yours wouldn’t approve, they might want you to stop hanging around them.” 

Snape waits until the professor is looking away to furtively flip Sirius off. Sirius, in retaliation, throws a quill at Snape. The point strikes him on the forehead – which is honestly a remarkably accurate shot, if Peter thinks about it – and Snape looks like he’s about ready to leap out of his seat and strangle Sirius right there in the classroom. 

To Peter’s immense surprise, Snape manages to control himself until they get out of the classroom. James and Sirius seem to have forgotten the entire altercation, which is unsurprising seeing as James has the memory of a goldfish and Sirius is easily distracted, but Snape certainly hasn’t. The moment that the class is out the door, Peter sees, out of the corner of his eye, Snape storming towards the four of them, elbowing between them to shove James squarely on the shoulder blades, knocking him forward slightly. 

The push doesn’t do much to James, just makes him have to take a step in order to regain his balance, but when he turns around, an expression of bewilderment is on his face. “What the hell was that?” 

“What the hell was that?” Snape repeats, his mouth curled into an ugly snarl. “I’m tired of you talking shit about me constantly, Potter, that’s what the hell that was!” 

James cuts his eyes to the side as if to gauge his friends’ reactions to this. Sirius is standing slightly to his right, arms crossed as though he’s immediately gone into a defensive position; Remus has leaned against the wall, one hand on the strap of his bag, securing it on his shoulder, eyes narrowed; Peter hasn’t moved from the position he stepped into when Snape shoved past him to get to James, he’s slightly off balance and sidles along the hall to step closer to Remus and Sirius. 

A small crowd has formed after Snape’s outburst. James looks around once again, this time at the group watching, then back at Snape. Peter catches sight of the girls from their year lingering on the edge of the circle and thinks he sees James’ attention focus for a fraction of a second longer than necessary on Lily. 

“To be fair,” James says finally, “I wasn’t the only one talking shit.” 

“You certainly weren’t the one  _smelling_  like shit,” Sirius says under his breath, but loudly enough that nearly everyone can hear him, and derisive laughter ripples through the crowd. 

“You’re next, Black!” 

“Ooh, what are you gonna do, rub your stink glands on me?” Sirius taunts. “Unlike you, I know how to use a shower, I'll be fine.” 

James laughs, a quick, loud burst that has him throwing his head back and breaking the tension of the moment, but in the completely wrong way. Instead of the anger bouncing around the crowded hallway fizzling out with the laughter, it breaks and shatters and  _sharpens_ , the biggest shard sticking into the point of Snape’s elbow and the momentum causing his arm to rocket forward and for his first to collide with James’ face. 

There's a collective  _OH!_ from everyone in the hall. Hands are clapped to mouths, knotted in hair, reaching out to the center of the circle. James staggers backwards, glasses flying off of his face. Snape's fist had hit him on the left corner of his mouth; with remarkable deftness and without taking his eyes off of Snape, James spits out a bit of blood and in an instant, proceeds to launch his entire body at him, knocking him to the ground. 

The hallway explodes. Students are screaming, cheering, egging them on, Sirius’ voice rising above the rest, shouting  _kill him, James!_  Peter can barely see what’s happening as the crowd surges forward in an attempt to get a better look at the fight. 

“Fuck,” Remus says, and Peter thinks that sums up the situation pretty clearly. Peter can’t believe that not an hour ago he was thinking that it would never come to physical blows. 

Lily is screaming for James to leave Snape alone but the crowd is pressing in and her voice gets lost in the din. Peter catches a glimpse of the two of the through the shifting bodies surrounding them; James is sitting on Snape’s chest, looking like he only very recently managed to gain this position, judging from the blood running out of his nose and mouth, his knees pinning down Snape’s arms as he lands several punches before being pulled off by a shouting seventh year Ravenclaw that Peter can identify as the Head Boy. 

“All of you, get out of here!” the Head Boy shouts at the gathered students, James’ upper arm held firmly in one hand and Snape’s in the other. “If I catch anyone fighting again today I swear I'll get Dumbledore to cancel the next Hogsmeade trip!” 

“Can he do that?” someone whispers. 

“Do you want to find out?” the Head Boy replies threateningly. The crowd falls silent and dissipates as the bell rings. 

Without another word from the Head Boy, James and Snape are hauled off in the direction of, Peter can only guess, the office of one of their Heads of Houses, leaving Peter standing in the hall with Remus and Sirius, the three of them still in the same positions they’d been in the whole time. 

Sirius steps forward wordlessly and picks up James’ trampled glasses from the floor. 

“Well,” Peter says. “What a welcome back to school.” 

No one responds for a second. Then, Remus rushes, “Shit, we’re late for Astronomy.” 


	16. in which james contemplates the existence of the wizard mafia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy back to hogwarts day. i'm too old (by like. five years) to be going back to hogwarts, but happy start of the school year to all u youngins.
> 
> also, there's a chance that i'm going to be putting together a patreon? let me know if this is something any of you would be interested in. i wrote like 6.5k yesterday and i was like. this is basically a second job. and i would love to feel professional for something that i do for fun.
> 
> okay, that's all for today. love you lots. jamie said that this was one of the best chapters yet, so i hope everyone feels the same way :)
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

“I am completely  _astounded_ at your utter lack of rational decision making skills, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall spits as James sits, slumped in a chair in front of her desk after being unceremoniously dumped there by the Head Boy. He’d immediately departed in the direction of the dungeons, Snape in tow, to barge into Professor Slughorn’s office in the same manner. “What in Merlin’s name gave you the idea that this was a smart move?” 

James shrugs. The blood running out of his nose has stopped and mostly dried up, forming a crackly, uncomfortable layer on his face. Never in his life has James wanted to wash his face more than he does right now. 

“What?” McGonagall demands, coming around the front of her desk and crossing her arms as she stands in front of him, arms crossed. “You have nothing to say for yourself?” 

She waits. James doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Professor, I was just  _defending_ myself.” 

“Really.” 

“ _Really_!” 

“That’s not what the roughly thirty students who witnessed this debacle had to say about it. Well, other than your loyal friends, Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, and Mr. Pettigrew.” 

“They said that because _Sirius_  was the one who was doing the shit-talking, not  _me_!” 

McGonagall’s glare, if possible, becomes even more razor-sharp at James’ use of a swear word. He hangs his head apologetically. 

“Be that as it may,” she continues after a moment of letting him stew in his frustration and shame and embarrassment, “Mr. Black did not get involved in physical violence, which is why he is not the one sitting in front of me right now.” 

“Professor, I –” 

She holds up a hand and James stops in his tracks. “I expected better of you, Mr. Potter.” 

James’ heart sinks. As strict as Professor McGonagall is, as hard as her lessons and as high as her expectations are, James has always wanted to do well in her class, to gain her approval. Maybe even to impress her once or twice. He doesn’t think there’s an adult that he’s looked up to as much as he looks up to her who isn’t one of his parents.  

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he says to his knees. 

“Look at me when you speak to me, Mr. Potter.” She reaches across her desk, picking up her wand and a handkerchief. After tapping the handkerchief with her wand, she hands it to James, now damp to the touch. “Clean up your face.” 

“I’m sorry,” James repeats, mumbling a little around the handkerchief pressed to his nose. 

He might be imagining it, but he thinks she softens a little. 

“I know you are,” McGonagall says, “which is why I’m not giving you a more severe punishment. You’re already in detention this week for throwing a rock throw a window before Christmas holidays, don’t think I’ve forgotten. On top of that, for the next two days, you’ll be in isolation.” 

“ _Isolation_?” 

“Yes, Potter, isolation. I will also be sending a letter to your parents, as well as taking twenty-five points from Gryffindor for your behavior.” 

“I understand, Professor.” James pauses, then risks a question. “Professor, what would be a more severe punishment?” 

The corner of McGonagall’s mouth twitches a little at that. “Do you  _want_  me to reevaluate my decisions?” 

“No,” James replies quickly. “I was just wondering. So that I’m aware.” 

“Well,” McGonagall says after a moment, “I think you should consider yourself very lucky that you aren’t on my Quidditch team yet.” 

James’ heart soars back upwards with such speed that it almost carries him out of his seat. “Yet?” 

Professor McGonagall walks back to the other side of her desk. After she sits, she replies, “I can only assume that your intense dedication to the game is an indication that you’re not only passionate about playing on the team eventually, but that you both know how to play and intend to try out next fall when your ban is lifted, presumably with Mr. Black. However, you should know, I do not tolerate members of my team making a spectacle of themselves, on or off the pitch. You are representative of your House and of your school, and if you can’t behave respectably, there is no place for you on the team. Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

“Yes, Professor,” James says earnestly. 

“Good. Now, get out of here, go to your next lesson. I expect to see you after your Herbology lesson this afternoon for your detention.” 

James gets up and, after an awkward little bowing motion (he can’t figure out why he did that, but he sure didn’t know how to leave the room) scampers out of McGonagall’s office and through the empty halls to the Astronomy tower. 

“Mr. Potter, how nice of you to finally join us,” Professor Sinistra says dryly as he slips in the door and tiptoes towards his friends. Peter takes his bag off of a seat next to him in order to free up a spot for James. “I trust you’ve finished disrupting the day after this morning’s theatrics, and that you can name at least ten moons of Jupiter, as I’d assigned you to learn over Christmas holidays?” 

“Oh, uh, yes, Professor,” James manages, stumbling over his words and getting situated at his desk. He stands up before answering the question. “Europa, Io, Callisto, Ganymede, Metis, Thebe, uh, Amalthea? Themisto… Iocaste, and uh…” 

“Your mother,” Sirius says in a voice disguised as a light cough. 

“What? Euphemia? _Oh_ , Eupheme!” James finishes triumphantly, a grin on his face. “And that’s ten!” 

“Nicely done, Mr. Potter,” Professor Sinistra says, smiling slightly. “Take your seat, please.” 

After second period, they have a fifteen minute break, which seems to be an opportunity for people to crowd around James and ask him how it went with McGonagall, did he need to get any parts of his face fixed by Madam Pomfrey, how much trouble did he get in, did Snape have it worse? James brushes off the questions and edges around answers, mostly because he’s slightly embarrassed, but more because people seem to be interested in hearing more and paying more attention to him the more detail he withholds. Sirius stands slightly in front of him like a bouncer as people gather around and ask questions, the small knot in the courtyard outside of the castle remaining sizable until the first bell rings and they dissipate to head off to class. 

“Did you see the pool we had? That was a shit load of variety,” James says as they walk around the outside of the castle towards their flying lesson. “And we only had Astronomy with the other Gryffs in our year, people wanted to know more.” 

“No one likes Snape, they’re just glad he got punched,” Remus replies, hopping over a tree root. 

“Yes, which is exactly why I’m now a hero to the entire school.” 

Sirius snorts. “You’re not a hero. You got your arse kicked just as much as Snape did.” 

“Didn’t you see me winning at the end?” 

“No one  _won_ , you got pulled off of him and hauled into McGonagall’s office!” Peter interjects. “By the way, you never said, how did that go?” 

James shrugs. “Isolation for two days. Letter home to the parents. I’m still in detention this week, too, so I guess isolation is an extra hour for tomorrow and the day after.” 

“Do you still get to eat lunch with us?” 

“No, Sirius, wait,” Peter interrupts, laughing. “What if he can’t leave the room and he has to eat lunch with Snape?” 

“Oh, fuck, he probably will, I bet Snape got the same punishment!” 

“Good luck with that, James, just you and good ol’ stinky locked in a room together for hours on end.” 

“We’ll send you letters and eagerly await your return from war,” Remus adds. “We’re so grateful for your sacrifice.” 

“Fuck off, all of you, I don’t deserve this,” James groans, raking a hand through his hair. 

The Quidditch pitch is in sight; for their second year of flying lessons, they’ve moved on to the actual pitch, so that they’re not just hovering around the school’s front lawn. Remus breaks off from the group as they near the pitch, as his handy little note from Madam Pomfrey excuses him from having to take flying lessons, a fact that Peter complains about every time he gets near a broom. 

“Look, it’s not my fault that I had the burden of a chronic magical illness dumped on me a few days shy of my fifth birthday,” Remus says as he walks backwards away from the group, heading back up to the castle. “This, however, might be the best thing to come out of it.” 

“Did he just – did you make a joke?” Sirius asks, laughing. “Did you just make a joke about your... thing?” 

“Ew, that sounds like he made a joke about his dick,” Peter says. “I don’t wanna hear quips about that.” 

“Stick with me, Pete, and that’s  _all_ you’ll hear in the future,” Remus replies, winking. “Anyway, have fun with your flying lesson, I'll be in the library, enjoying the benefits of gravity. See you at lunch!” 

Remus waves and essentially skips away. “He’s far too happy about not being able to fly,” James comments. “I wouldn’t be happy about that at all.” 

“James, if you weren’t allowed to fly, you’d never shut up. You never shut up about being banned from the Quidditch team, why would even doing flying  _lessons_  have a different result?” Sirius replies. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.” 

The rest of their lessons fly past far more quickly than James would like, and before he knows it, he’s trudging towards the Transfiguration classroom, dragging his feet as though that would make him move slowly enough to never reach his detention. 

James isn’t a stranger to detention anymore, but he still hates it. He doesn’t think Professor McGonagall has anything particular in store for him, but he’s a little apprehensive nonetheless. 

He knocks on the door when he approaches it. He doesn’t know why, normally he just walks into the classroom, as is... you know,  _normal_ for a classroom, but after the chewing out James got this morning, he’d like to stay as much on McGonagall’s good side as is possible. 

There's no response, so James pushes the door open. The sight in front of him makes his heart sink all the way to the dungeons. 

The desks have been moved to the sides of the room, stacked up against the walls, except for the one sitting directly in front of McGonagall’s desk. James normally doesn’t have an issue with the fact that every desk in this school has two places in it, and that because of that, every student is always sharing with another, but in this case, it’s activating a roiling of dread in his gut. Because in front of him is a far worse sight than James was anticipating: Severus Snape is sitting at the desk, and all other options of moving himself as far from him as possible have been eliminated. 

At the front of the room stand Slughorn and McGonagall, conversing quietly. “Ah, Mr. Potter,” Slughorn says as James enters the classroom, “wonderful of you to join us. Please, take a seat.”

“Anywhere particular you’d like me to sit, sir?” James says, a bit sharply, judging from the glare McGonagall gives him. He can’t help the barb. He's annoyed and he’d rather be assigned to clean every toilet in the castle than have to sit next to Snape. To James’ relief, however, Slughorn just chuckles, seeming to have registered James’ question as a joke. 

James sits, setting his bag down on the floor next to his side of the desk and edging his chair as far from Snape as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he takes in Snape’s appearance: the other boy has a cut lip, a massive black eye, and what looks like a bruise forming near his nose. James is _immensely_  satisfied in the knowledge that Snape looks far more fucked up than he does. 

“Well,” McGonagall says. “I’m sure you boys are wondering why we’ve brought you here into the same room after this morning’s... episode. Professor Slughorn had an idea that if we were to make the two of you spend your punishment together, you’d be willing to have an open mind towards each other and perhaps put aside your differences in the future.” 

Snape scoffs quietly next to James. If McGonagall hears, she doesn’t react. 

“Now, I don’t expect you to become the best of friends, but I do expect you to be civil with each other. For now, I don’t even want you to speak to each other. Sit quietly, and for the rest of the hour, I want you to take out your quills and parchment and write lines. _Physical violence is an immature and shameful way to settle disagreements, and I will refrain from it in the future_.” As she speaks, McGonagall waves her wand, and the words appear on the chalkboard, in case either of them forget. “You may go when the clock strikes four.” 

James spends the next hour writing, trying his hardest to not touch or even get remotely near to Snape, and to not smudge the ink on his parchment. When the clock signals that they can leave, the two of them gather all their things as quickly as possible and deposit their parchments full of lines on McGonagall’s desk before all but sprinting out of the room. 

“Well, that was shit,” James says as soon as they’re out of the classroom and the door has closed behind them. He doesn’t really think about who he’s talking to, just that it was shit and he wants to talk about it. “Did you get isolation, too?” 

Snape turns, looks at James incredulously for speaking to him, then grabs the front of James’ jumper in one spindly fist. 

“Whoa.” 

“Listen, Potter,” Snape hisses. James isn’t alarmed, exactly, more confused, but the shock of Snape’s hand suddenly gripping his jumper is enough to make James actually do what he says for a moment. “You fuck with me again and it’s the last time you fuck with anyone. Some of my friends heard about what you did, and they’re not happy. They're gonna let it slide this time, if you do it again, you better be on your guard.” 

“Friends?” James asks. “What friends? I've only ever seen you hang out with Evans.” 

Snape lets go of James’ jumper. “Friends from my House. They’re looking out for me. We take care of each other.” 

“... okay,” James replies slowly. “I’ll watch out for your mafia friends.” 

Snape rolls his eyes and stalks off. 

Five minutes later, when James has sprinted up to Gryffindor Tower and skidded to a halt in front of the fireplace that he and his friends have claimed as their own, he blurts out breathlessly, “Lads, Snape’s joined the wizard mafia!” 

“He’s what?” Peter asks. 

“There’s no wizard mafia,” Remus begins, frowning. “What did he say?” 

“He started talking about his friends who were  _protecting_ him, his friends from Slytherin, and that I better not fuck with him again, or they’d, I don’t know, break my kneecaps or something.” 

“Shit,” Sirius says under his breath. “I think he’s serious.” 

“I thought you were –" 

“Shut up, I'm talking about something real,” Sirius says, sounding uncharacteristically somber. His face is pale. “Remember... remember when I heard Bratum talking to my dad last Christmas? About You-Know-Who and his followers? It sounded a hell of a lot like what Snape said to you.” 

Remus snorts. “You-Know-Who isn’t going to recruit a twelve-year old.” 

“No,” Peter says thoughtfully. “But Bratum was.” 


	17. in which slughorn and sirius have an understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. first of all WOW. ahmicb kind of blew up on twitter over the past couple days and i've had the BEST time seeing people's reactions and it means the world to me that people enjoy it so much. i forgot to upload at midnight tonight because i fell asleep, so i'm very sorry to the people i disappointed by being several hours late (especially chloe and taren ,, love u xxxxxx)
> 
> i also want to give a huge thank you to my continued supporters who never fail to leave comments that make me smile and keep me going: cruciatusforeplay, chocolatefrogsandtealeaves, trashygaymeme, and rainstorm67. you're amazing and i love and appreciate you so so much!! thank you for sticking around through this mess of a journey.
> 
> alright. so here's the chapter. i hope you like it xxx
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

There isn’t much any of them can actually do about their seedling of a theory that Snape may or may not have been recruited by Bratum to be a Death Eater, given the fact that there’s no way to prove it and it seems unlikely that out of everyone Bratum could’ve gotten on his side, he’d choose a skinny twelve-year-old with hygiene issues. Sirius had contemplating writing his father and asking him, but he’d come to the conclusion that it might raise some questions that he doesn’t think he’s quite ready to have answered yet. 

“If he wanted a skinny twelve-year-old with hygiene issues,” Remus reasons one afternoon, lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, “he could just recruit James.” 

“Hey,” James says reproachfully, twisting a lock of his hair into a tight, tiny rope above his forehead before letting go and trying and failing to look up and see it spin back out to its natural position. “Be nice to me, I do nothing but compliment you.” 

“You do nothing but  _annoy_ me, more like,” Remus corrects. They all fall silent for a moment. Sirius pokes at Remus with his foot from his position in the armchair, and they exchange a look. Then Remus continues, “I’m sorry. That was mean.” 

“Was it, I hadn’t noticed,” James replies, sounding a little miffed. 

“It was,” Remus says, sitting up. “It’s not an excuse, it’s just... you know.” 

“What?” James asks. 

“You idiot, he’s talking about,” Peter begins, pauses, looks around the room to make sure no one is within hearing range, then continues in a more hushed tone, “the moon.” 

“Yeah,” Remus says. “You know.” 

They do know. Sirius doesn’t think there’s been a day over the course of the past few weeks that they’ve been at school that he, at least, hasn’t thought about the impending full moon. He had known it was coming – he'd looked up when the date was and had figured it would be somewhere around the third week of the month judging from the date it had fallen on in December, but Sirius has been antsy watching the day move closer and closer. 

He wants to ask Remus what they can do to help. There has to be something, right? Now that they know, are they just expected to sit around and watch him suffer? 

Sirius can only assume he’s been suffering. Remus hasn’t elaborated on what it’s like or even really spoken about what they saw in the Shack that night, but he’s been a little bit more open when it comes to why things are the way that they are. Like instead of saying he stayed up too late and that’s why he’s tired, when Sirius had asked the other day, Remus had shrugged and casually said that he always gets more tired right before and after the moon. 

He never refers to it as anything other than the moon. He never calls it the transformation or the bad night or anything else that Sirius has been referring to it in his head. He usually never even mentions anything about the creature lurking underneath his skin, but if he does, he very simply calls it  _the wolf_. 

Sirius supposes that it’s a way of distancing himself from what happens. That makes sense, he thinks he’d do the same thing if he were in Remus’ situation. But as much as he doesn’t want to push Remus into talking about something that he’s clearly not comfortable with, he also wants to know more about what’s going to be happening so that they can figure out the best way to go forward in the future. 

They've been quiet lately. As a group, as individuals. Sirius has had a lot of things rattling around his mind, what with lessons and homework and James constantly in detention and Remus going away once a month and Peter starting to color-coordinate his notes already in preparation for exam revision and ever fucking possible thing that could be going on at home, Sirius can’t stop  _fucking_ thinking about what could be going on at home. It isn’t as though he has suspicions of anything actively happening, but he’s scared about things lining up too well, what with Snape and Bratum and his father having a conversation with the latter at their home last Christmas. 

Try as he might, Sirius has never quite been able to get the bits of that conversation that he’d overheard out of his head. 

 _“Yes, of course his methods are extreme, but are his principles correct? Yes, again. He’s doing what needs to be done. Not that I condone rushing out and joining this kind of uncivilized group, but if he were to run for Minister and do things the proper way, he could count on my vote.”_  

 _“That’s not all he’s looking for, though. Orion, he’s looking for more stalwart approval, and a man in your position would be able to sway the events to work in his favor. You have to see the merit in this.”_  

They'd found out about Bratum before school had ended. They'd gotten him sent to Azkaban. No one escapes from Azkaban. Bratum wasn’t a danger anymore. 

The thing that has Sirius’ mind running in circles, however, is his _father_. 

Sirius has tried to avoid thinking about what it means that his father had agreed with Bratum when he’d overheard them. He's tried to think that maybe he’d just been trying to appease Bratum or the other men in the room or something, but that isn’t the case. If Sirius knows anything, he knows that Orion Black has never been one to let anyone tell him what to do, especially not in his own home. He wouldn’t have agreed with Bratum and let him continue his You-Know-Who sales pitch if he hadn’t wanted to learn more. 

His parents have always tried to keep him out of politics, citing that he wasn’t old enough to understand the issues and that they’d explain more to him when he was, but Sirius thinks that they may have neglected this a bit too much and may have completely forgotten about it before sending him off to Hogwarts. Sirius came to school with practically no knowledge of how the wizarding world worked, and granted, he still doesn’t know much, but what he does know is thanks to his friends. 

He knows that the people he’s spent his entire childhood surrounded by is a very small circle and that the world is much bigger and much more worth exploring than he’s been led to believe. He knows that you don’t have to be from a certain background to be a good wizard. He knows that You-Know-Who and his followers don’t think that, that they think you should only be a pureblood if you’re going to learn magic. He knows that if they got their way, Peter wouldn’t be at Hogwarts.  _Remus_ certainly wouldn’t, given both his... condition and his blood status. 

Sirius doesn’t think their little group would be complete with just himself and James. 

But thinking about Remus and the fact that he’s a half-blood and his burden of lycanthropy that Sirius has just barely become aware of has him coming back to the most impending matter at hand: the moon is approaching, and Sirius has no idea how to act anymore now that he knows what Remus is going to have to go through. 

It’s Wednesday night. Remus goes to the Shack tomorrow. They're sitting in their room, not really speaking, having migrated upstairs after getting bored of being in front of the fire and taking turns in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Sirius and Remus are on the floor with their backs against the foot of James’ bed; Peter seems to be asleep as he’s been quiet for nearly twenty minutes, and Sirius knows that he’s going to wake up abruptly in the middle of the night and have a hard time falling back into slumber if he doesn’t get up soon; James is singing faintly in the shower and seems to be having a grand time. 

“Is there –" Sirius begins before stopping himself. 

“Is there what?” Remus asks. 

“No, it was dumb.” 

“So? You have to tell me anyway, if it’s dumb, I’ll make fun of you but at least you won’t be keeping me in suspense.” 

Sirius sighs, leaning his head back against the foot of the bed. “Is there a difference between, you know, the moon at home and the moon here?” 

Remus doesn’t answer for a second. “It’s not dumb,” he says finally. “Yeah, it’s different.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know. It just is. The wolf is... angrier at home.” Remus tucks his knees to his chest, watching the embers glow in the little heater in the center of the room. “I think there’s some resentment. Maybe because that was where it happened. Maybe because it’s a smaller space. Maybe because of my parents.” 

Sirius just listens. This is the longest Remus has ever talked about the wolf and the moon – he isn’t about to interrupt him now.  

“That's why I stayed here instead of going home last month,” he continues. “Who knows how tomorrow's gonna go.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah.” 

Another pause. 

“Is there anything I can do?” 

Remus laughs a little bit ruefully. “No, not unless you can magically fix me.” 

“Hey, don’t say it like that,” Sirius replies in a reproachful tone. “You’re not _broken_.” 

Remus shrugs. “I’m not whole, either.” 

The bathroom door opens and James waltzes out in a cloud of steam, one towel tied around his waist and another twisted on top of his head like he’s drying much longer hair than he actually has. “Well, that was refreshing,” he announces to the room at top volume, causing Peter to stir and grumble angrily from his bed. “Who’s next?” 

Sirius isn’t particularly eager to go into the shower directly after James – he always writes words he finds interesting in the steam on the mirror that have no correlation with each other and uses up all the hot water for at least an hour, which is saying something considering the pipes are magically heated – so instead he opts for the morning slot. Over the past year and a half, the four of them have gotten their morning and night routines down to a science, weaving between each other in and out of their tiny bathroom and stepping on each other’s toes trying to get either dressed or undressed, depending on the time of day. All semblance of privacy has disappeared from their dorm room dynamic, so Sirius is unsurprised at the ease with which James parades around in just a towel. 

The next day, after Sirius’ impressively quick morning shower and having to yell at Remus to wake up only four times, the day seems to somehow fly and crawl by. It's one of those days that feels like it’s the longest ever, but Sirius doesn’t want it to end, because he doesn’t want Remus to have to go to the Shack. 

Morning is double Transfiguration. Sirius struggles to get his porcupine to turn completely into a pincushion when McGonagall comes by to check his work and it prompts her to launch into a lengthy lecture about how they should know by now that this is not a class they can skate by in, and if they aren't willing to put in the work, the door is right there, but they had better be ready to march right back through it at three in the afternoon for detention. Sirius, having seen James sit through two straight days of isolation for the fight along with an extra week of detentions for the window breakage, is not eager to suffer the same fate, so he apologizes profusely to McGonagall for not being prepared enough and spends the rest of the lesson begging Lily, who seems to have mastered this particular challenge, to teach him how to get his pincushion to lose its legs. 

By the time the bell rings, Sirius has produced a pincushion worthy of at least a nod from McGonagall and has taken enough notes to – hopefully – do alright on the essay she’s set them. Break comes and is too short and Sirius already has a headache by the time he and his friends trek up the stairs to Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

If Sirius is feeling like shit, he can only imagine how Remus is suffering. Sirius would never say it to his face, or even out loud, for fear that he’d overhear, but Remus looks like he’s been run over by the Knight Bus. That worries him to no end, but he has to put the thought out of his mind as they settle into Defense Against the Dark Arts, being told to pair up with their, most unfortunately, assigned partners for practice with jinxes. 

Sirius thinks they’ve been assigned specifically so that the knot of mean-looking Slytherins whispering with Snape in the corner of the room won’t try and seek out James in one of the only settings where they won’t get in trouble for hexing another student, and it seems to be working, as James ends up with Marlene. Sirius himself is paired with Val, who looks up at him from a surprising number of inches below eye level and crosses her arms before saying, “I’m gonna kick your arse, Black.” 

Sirius raises his eyebrows. “Okay, Carr, you can try.” 

It's almost humiliating how quickly Val takes out her wand and hits him with a Knockback Jinx. Peter is still laughing about it when they leave the classroom and head to lunch an hour later. “She’s tiny!” he’d practically crowed as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. “How’d she manage to send you flying across the room?” 

“Look, Pete, it isn’t like she  _punched_  me, size doesn’t have anything to do with magical skill! If it did, you’d be completely talentless and Hagrid would be the most powerful wizard on the planet!” 

“Okay, whatever you have to say to defend yourself, which you apparently couldn’t do in a controlled classroom setting against someone half your size,” Peter replies, still laughing through his words. 

Remus falls asleep with his head on the table at lunch. James, sitting next to him, gently shakes Remus awake and guides him to Potions with their arms looped together, as Remus doesn’t seem to want to open his eyes completely. 

“Is he okay?” Peter whispers as they sit down at their usual spot in Potions and Remus puts his head back down on the table. “Should he go to the hospital wing?” 

“He can hear you,” Remus says softly. “And he’s fine. Maybe a little nauseous and headache-y. The lights are too bright.” 

Sirius looks around. The dungeons, as usual, are dimly lit. It’s a vast difference compared to the huge windows and beams of light, both natural and unnatural, illuminating the Great Hall, but the fact that Remus is saying that the lights are too bright for him  _here_ makes Sirius worry a little. How sensitive are his eyes that he’s having trouble dealing with the shadows of the dungeons? 

He hops off of his stool and slips quietly up to the front of the classroom, where Professor Slughorn is setting up his cauldron in order to demonstrate the potion they’ll be brewing in today’s lesson. “Professor?” Sirius asks as he approaches. 

“Yes?” Slughorn replies, turning around. He smiles upon seeing Sirius at his elbow. “Ah, what is it, my boy?” 

“Sir, I was wondering if I could take Remus to the hospital wing. He's really not feeling well, he doesn’t want to miss class so he isn’t asking himself but he’s not doing well and he really needs to see Madam Pomfrey,” Sirius says in a hushed voice. 

Slughorn, who has leaned in to listen to what Sirius has said more closely, looks intently at Sirius for half a second. His eyes widen marginally in realization of what it is exactly that Sirius is getting at, and as he nods, Sirius knows that he and Slughorn understand each other fully. “Of course, Mr. Black, you may take Mr. Lupin to the hospital wing. Hurry back afterwards, though, we have an interesting one today,” he says, gesturing to the chalkboard before getting back to his setup. 

“Thank you, sir,” Sirius rushes out before briskly walking back to his table. “Remus, get up.” 

“What?” Remus says into the crook of his elbow. It isn’t really so much of a word as a grunt in the vague form of a question, but Sirius knows what he’s saying. 

“Slughorn says I can take you to the hospital wing, let’s go, you need to lie down.” 

“Come on, Remus, get up,” Peter whispers, shoving lightly at Remus’ arm. “You’ll feel better and we’ll see you later.” 

James adds, “Or if not, we’ll see you tomorrow.” 

It takes a minute of coaxing to even get Remus into an upright position, but soon enough Sirius has Remus’ arm around one of his shoulders and is doing his best to haul his friend out of the classroom and to the hospital wing without drawing too much attention to either of them. Eventually, it’s decided that they need another body; James is chosen for his height, his athleticism, and his inability to remain alone in the classroom without the rest of his friends and both take notes and not start a fight with any of the other students. Sirius thinks Peter somewhat resents being left behind to take notes for the rest of them, but he doesn’t say anything. 

They’re all in agreement in this moment that making sure Remus is okay is the biggest thing they need to be focusing on. 

It takes ten minutes of trudging through the corridors to make it to the hospital wing, where they deposit Remus on a bed and tell Madam Pomfrey what he’d told them. She gives Remus a worried glance before thanking the boys for their help and writing them a note to ensure that they won’t get in trouble for being out of class if anyone stops them. 

It’s at this point of the day that things stop moving at the pace they had been for the rest of the day. 

Sirius doesn’t know if this is sheer impatience for tomorrow to come already, but it feels like every second takes approximately four years to tick by on the clock. Tomorrow doesn’t hold any real significance, but it’s sure as hell better than tonight, which, Sirius is now acutely aware, is when Remus is going to be shredded from the inside out by a creature ripping its way out of his body. 

The worst part, he thinks later that night, lying on the sofa listening to the common room bustle around him, is that there’s nothing they can do to help. If there was something, Remus’ parents and all their teachers and the Healers who’ve tended to him over the years would’ve figured something out. Sirius doesn’t know a lot about lycanthropy and the ins and outs of the disease, but he knows that the general consensus is that werewolves are extremely dangerous to be around. He knows that their biggest prey is human beings. He knows that when they were in the Shack, Remus – no,  _not_  Remus, it was the wolf, that wasn’t Remus – the wolf hadn't been able to stop itself from lunging at them the second it had registered that they were in the room. The fact that it had been their best friend moments before had done nothing to protect them. 

For the life of him Sirius can’t think of a single way to help. It makes him feel like shit, like the worst friend on the planet. All he _wants_ to do is help. 

The sun sets. The moon rises. The boys stay in their spots around the fire. The common room clears out and the conversation dies down. The conversation between the three of them has been practically nonexistent for the whole evening. What is there to talk about, when Remus is going through this? Anything they could possibly say would fall flat. They know they’re all thinking about the same thing and talking about anything else would just be hollow words. 

The wolf howls, the sound cutting through the icy January night, muffled slightly by the castle walls. Sirius doesn’t think he can just sit around and listen to what he knows now is Remus essentially screaming in pain. He doesn’t think he’s heard a sound that acutely lonely and filled with agony in his whole life, and what he wants more than anything is to find a way to make it stop. He sits up suddenly. 

Judging from his friends’ expressions, when they heard the mournful howling, they’d had the same thought. 

“So,” James says, looking between Peter and Sirius, “who has ideas?” 


	18. in which james has a remarkable lack of tact and sirius has a remarkable surplus of denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone we are nearing the end!!! stay tuned :o i have been writing up a storm and have the entirety of cmaf finished, as well as two chapters of year 3 prepared!!!!! thank you for all the support you've given me during my writing of this, your comments and kudos and reactions and tweets mean the world to me. they also really help me to get more views, because of the search algorithm, so i really appreciate continued interaction!! thank you thank you thank you!!!
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

It seems to Remus that the year is flying by. Before his friends knew about the wolf, Remus felt like the months were inching by with the speed of someone hit by a Slowing Spell. Now, however, he feels like the world outside of the castle is heating up and warmth is seeping back into his bones and that summer, while something he’s looking forward to, is nearing far faster than he really wants it to. 

January blurs into February, bringing one last snowfall around Valentine’s Day, which is marked by a flurry of floating heart-shaped notes zipping around the school and a surprising amount of older students getting caught by Filch kissing in secluded parts of the castle and the Vance twins throwing a party and somehow getting Flitwick to sanction them using the Great Hall for the festivities. Remus has no idea how they managed that, but he and his friends attend the party either way, chipping in on a singular gift that they manage to convince themselves both Vances will enjoy. 

February cycles off the calendar with the moon marking the end of the month, and Remus thinks maybe it’s getting easier. It's March before he knows it, and his thirteenth birthday is celebrated by Peter baking the now-traditional _one cake for each year we’ve known each other_. It's only a few weeks before James’ birthday comes around and they do it again. 

“Next year we should have a joint party instead of eating all this cake,” James suggests, lying on the floor curled on his side and rubbing his stomach, which is slightly distended from the amount that he’s shoved down his throat. 

“To be fair, you didn’t _have_ to eat it, you could’ve shared with more people, but you wanted to eat a whole cake on your own,” Peter reasons. “I’m not bullshitting my baking, I made two equally large cakes. You could’ve just had like, two slices.” 

“I know how to share,” Remus says smugly. “One of us is gaining wisdom with age.” 

“Remus, you have the mind of an eighty-five-year-old,” Sirius says, pointing with his fork for emphasis. “I bet you shout at the unruly children of the Welsh countryside to _get off your lawn_ when you see them getting to close to the house.” 

Remus raises his hands in an exaggerated, defensive shrugging motion. “And your point is?” 

“That any wisdom you’ve gained with age was already lying dormant in your old man brain and you’re just becoming more decrepit with each passing day,” Sirius replies easily, lifting his plate off of his knee as James inches over in a slug-like motion to lay his head where the plate had been. He sets the plate back down on top of James’ head and uses his now-free hand to pat James’ back lightly. “That being said, you’re still wiser than James, but I'm not certain if I'd rather be an imbecile or elderly.” 

Remus tosses his empty paper plate like a frisbee. Sirius tries to bat it away with his fork-laden hand, but instead he misses and it hits him squarely on the forehead. 

“That was terrible.” 

“It was not.” 

“It hit you in the face!” 

“How do you expect to make the team next year with reflexes like  _that_?” Peter asks, shaking his head sagely. “God, Sirius, you’d think you’d never held a Beater’s bat before.” 

“It was a plastic fork!” 

March is over after James’ birthday and another moon that passes without incident except for a scrape on Remus’ shoulder that makes him itch under his shirt until it heals a few days later. The thing that seems to be more prevalent in all their lessons at this point, however, is their impending exams. Peter's taken to spreading out his notes on the floor of their spot in the common room, asking for input and detail on the things he thinks he’s missing and color coordinating according to subject. 

Remus is less stressed about exams than he thought he’d be; last year he’d stayed up every night until at least two in the morning and had still felt like he’d done terribly, even with all the work he’d put in. he thinks that might be  _because_  he stayed up so late and ran himself completely ragged instead of properly taking care of himself. This time, however, he’s not going to make that same mistake. 

He knows that James and Sirius have never worried much about their exams, given that they seem to have a combination of natural talent and stupid confidence to the point that revising never seems to occur to them except for the day before the exam, wherein they glance over their messy notes (Peter stalwartly refuses to hand them over, citing that  _if you wanted to collaborate, you should’ve started when I did and we could’ve worked together from the beginning_ ) and proceed to sail through all their challenges with an ease of which Remus is frankly extremely jealous. 

He has to work hard to make sure that he does well in school. Well, not as hard as he thinks some people do, but hard enough that it's not nearly as effortless as it is for James and Sirius. Remus knows that Peter is the same way that he is; sometimes he gets frustrated by the feeling that the two of them are the underdogs of their group. 

Remus brushes that feeling aside, spending time instead on getting far more prepared for their impending exams than half of his friend group is ever going to be, this year at least. Before any of them really know it, it's May, and things have been quiet for an inordinate amount of time. 

"I'm bored," James complains one afternoon, lying on the grass outside under the tree by the lake. They've taken to doing most of their studying out there, when the weather permits it, and they seem to be going through a good patch. "It's been forever since anything happened, let's _do_ something." 

"Like what?" Peter replies, not looking up from the practice essay he's scribbling away at. He pauses, frowning, then glances around. "I can't remember the ingredients." 

Remus leans over to peer at Peter's parchment. "Which potion are you writing about?" 

"Does that  _matter_?" James asks in a frustrated tone, swinging his legs around in a motion that almost looks like it belongs in some sort of break dancing routine, but instead just bringing himself into a sitting position. "Potions is a practical exam, it isn't like we need to write an essay for that one anyway." 

"Most of our exams are practical," Sirius muses, lying on his back. Remus glances over at him; his hair has gotten longer over the past few months, to the point where it's starting to spiral into unruly curls that Sirius has to constantly shake out of his eyes. As Remus watches, Sirius reaches up and runs a hand through them, tugging them away from his face. "I think the only one we really have to  _write_  for is History of Magic." 

"Okay, well, it helps me focus, alright?" Peter replies defensively, setting down his parchment in a huff. "It helps me make sure I know what I'm talking about, and that I'm not going to fuck it up two minutes into the exam." 

"You're not going to fuck it up," Remus replies calmly. He leans his head back slowly, so he can rest it against the tree trunk but still manage not to whack it against the bark. "You'll be great." 

"Easy for you to say," Peter grumbles. "You're brilliant." 

Remus snorts. "I'm not." 

"You are. All three of you." 

Sirius sits up sharply. "Pete, you're smarter than all of us. You get better marks than I ever have." 

"That's because you don't  _try_ , imagine how good you could be if you  _did_ ," Peter exclaims. "You're so smart, Sirius, you and James and Remus have so much natural talent and you don't even try for it at all." 

"Oh, I absolutely try, I haven't been trying nearly as much this year, and it's going to completely fuck me when it comes time for exams," Remus replies easily. "Remember last year? I don't think I slept at all around exam season." 

James shrugs. "I don't even remember exam season." 

"That's because you were too busy being obsessed with Bratum's every move," Peter replies. "You didn't even revise." 

"And you know what? We were right about that! Our exams should have been cancelled and we should've all been given awards for Special Services to the school," James says, pointing at each of his friends in turn as though to emphasize his point. "But no, they don't appreciate us. They never have." 

"I dunno, James, I think they were pretty nice to us when they didn't kick us out for attacking a teacher." 

"Oh, come now, Sirius, those are just details," James replies dismissively, waving a hand through the air. "Bratum was trying to recruit students to be You-Know-Who's brainwashed little army, and for all we know, he succeeded." 

"Do you think he put them in touch?" Remus asks, slightly absently. 

He doesn't quite know why he's decided to entertain one of James' crackpot theories on this particular afternoon. It might be because James has a pattern of being startlingly right every time something like this comes up. It just seems to happen like that. James was right about Bratum, he was right about Remus - who's to say that he isn't right about this as well? 

James has good instincts. Something tells Remus that they should trust them. 

"Uh, yeah, of  _course_  he put them in touch," James replies, scoffing a little as though he can't believe Remus would ever doubt that for a second. "That was his whole job. Well, that and spying on Dumbledore." 

"Who'd ever want to spy on Dumbledore is beyond me," Peter says dryly. "The man does nothing." 

"I still don't think his beard is real," Sirius says. 

"Wow. That was such a valuable contribution to the conversation. Thank you for that, Sirius." 

"You're welcome, Remus." 

"I was being sarcastic." 

"I know. I was being sincere." 

"We're getting off topic," James interrupts, waving his hands through the air again. "We need to figure out whether Snape has joined You-Know-Who's followers or not." 

Peter snorts. "Since when do we  _need_ to figure this out?" 

James looks at Peter as though he's grown a second head. "Pete, we're investigators. We haven't been wrong yet. We need to figure out what the fuck is going on, so if there's a secret society infiltrating the school, we can put a stop to it." 

"What, are we gonna take them all on by ourselves? The four of us? Great idea, we can fight the entirety of Slytherin House." 

"Not everyone in Slytherin is bad, Pete," Sirius says, frowning. "I think people only stereotype them because You-Know-Who was a Slytherin. But my family's okay." 

"Are they, though?" James replies quickly, giving Sirius a meaningful look. "Remember the conversation your dad was having with Bratum? The one you told us about?" 

Sirius, who'd been slouching over and picking at the grass, sits up at that, somewhat indignantly. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asks sharply. 

"I'm just saying, maybe he's involved in something." 

"Involved in what, exactly?" Sirius asks. His brows are knitted together in a deep frown, and Remus gets the sense that James should figure out how to shut up. 

"James," he says under his breath, but James ignores him. 

"He was saying he agreed with You-Know-Who's decisions! Okay, you said that he wasn't on board with the  _methods_ , but  _still_ , the reasons for doing what he does, that's what your dad said he agreed with!" 

James' tone is still bright, like he's just bouncing ideas around, but Sirius looks like he's about to throw something. 

"Okay, you weren't there, James, you only know what I told you, and I didn't even hear the entire conversation. I told you what was going on because of _Bratum_ being there, so that we could figure out what was up with  _him_ , not for you to start crucifying my dad for doing nothing but having a political discussion." 

"You-Know-Who isn't a politician!" James replies, only just now starting to sound surprised at Sirius' reaction. "He's... a murderer, he doesn't think anyone who isn't a pureblood should go to Hogwarts or even be allowed to have a wand, the four of us wouldn't even know each other if he had his way, why would it be okay to have a political discussion about that?" 

Sirius sighs in a way that comes out more as an exasperated groan. "You're such an idiot. What, are people supposed to just ignore what's happening and not talk about it at all? We're supposed to take up arms against him, you know, as people are saying Dumbledore is doing, without discussing any of it? Did you ever consider that maybe my father was trying to find out more information? Or maybe that he's a prominent member of wizarding society and it's part of his job in that position to know what's going on and to set an example for the community?" 

Sirius stands suddenly, throwing a blade of grass still between his fingers to the ground, and James finally seems to realize that Sirius is upset. "Sirius, I -" 

"No, you didn't, you just decided to jump to conclusions and imply that my father supports You-Know-Who. And, by extension, that I didn't know that would be a shitty thing for him to do. Thanks so much for your faith in me, James. I really appreciate it." 

He leaves. Remus watches him storm off across the lawn towards the castle, kicking at the ground a couple of times as he does. 

"Well," Peter says after a moment. "You fucked that one up." 


	19. in which james appreciates the current political climate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second to last!!! thank u to everyone who has read and left comments and kudos. i love you all! sorry for the late upload this week, i had some technical difficulties.
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

Exams arrive, far more quickly than Peter was expecting, which is surprising considering that he's been filling his days with practically nothing but thoughts of them. There hasn't been much else to occupy his mind, considering that James hasn't figured out what he did wrong and has thus been unable to adequately apologize to Sirius, and because of that, Sirius still isn't speaking to James. It's made all living in the same room nearly unbearable, and Peter has taken to strategically finding somewhere else to be when the four of them end up trapped in the same space. 

He doesn't really think it's fair that he's being punished for James' fuckup, but here he is. Relocating. 

He's in the library one afternoon with Sirius - Remus has been assigned to James duty today - revising and studiously ignoring the fracture in their friendship group. No one has broached the subject yet, seeing as there are other things going on, but Peter's getting a bit sick of it. 

"Sirius," he begins, setting down his pen. 

"Yeah?" Sirius replies, not looking up from his notes. 

"Do you think..." Peter stops, thinks about what he wants to say, then tries again. "Do you think you and James might be able to talk it out?" 

"Yeah, of course," Sirius replies, and Peter's heart leaps for a moment. "As soon as he's able to figure out why I'm actually angry with him, because so far all he's guessed at is that I'm annoyed because I don't think Snape is a Death Eater and I would rather focus on my exams." 

Peter frowns. "I mean, you could tell him that." 

"I  _did_." 

"Tell him again." 

"Why?" Sirius asks sharply, looking up. "He never listens. He doesn't understand why I'm upset and he hasn't made an  _effort_  to, so why should I let him fumble over his shitty apologies before he's even figured out what he did wrong?" 

Peter pauses. He doesn't know exactly the best way to go about this. He thinks... he thinks that he would like nothing more at this moment to yell at Sirius about how stupid he's being, about how  _obviously_ James didn't mean what he said, he just didn't think. That isn't exactly an uncommon occurrence with James, so Peter had thought that Sirius would understand. It's just... Sirius is so touchy when it comes to his family. 

It's little things like this, things that Peter hadn't noticed before. Sirius never says anything about it that really would make them think there was something wrong, but Peter has always gotten the sense that because he's from a very closely-knit family, ever since he was small, Sirius has been very protective of the people he grew up with. That of course, includes his father, who Peter  _knows_  Sirius has doubts about - how could he not, given what he heard - but can't seem to bring himself to say a single word against, because he looks up to him so much. 

Peter doesn't know much about Orion Black other than the general knowledge that he's very influential, very rich, and very politically informed yet uninvolved. However, it seems to Peter that Orion Black's political leanings might be starting to crawl their way out of the woodwork, and from what Peter knows about Sirius, it's unlikely that he agrees with what his father believes. 

That in itself has to be hard, he thinks. To see your parent in a different light after years of trying to model yourself after them. Peter's never experienced that himself, with his mums, but he can somewhat imagine the thoughts that are running through Sirius' mind right now. 

However, as much as Peter would like to shake some sense into his friends and force them to make amends, he doesn't think that telling Sirius that he thinks James might be  _right_ , no matter how insensitively he delivered his message, is the best way to proceed. 

Before Peter can fully formulate what it is that he should say next, Sirius sighs and speaks again. 

"Look, I know he didn't mean anything by it. I know - I know that he might be right. Like, this is something that we could consider." 

"You know, I think he was just spit-balling," Peter says. 

"No, he had a point," Sirius replies, very quietly. He doesn't speak for another moment. "I just... didn't like hearing it." 

"I mean, I don't think I would either." 

"Pete, I don't think that's even a possibility with your parents." 

"You've only met them once, how do you know?" 

Sirius smiles a bit ruefully. "Because of  _you_ , idiot. Anyone who can raise a kid as great as you can't be all that bad." 

Peter doesn't say anything for a moment. Then he snorts a little bit of a laugh out and shoves Sirius lightly. "Shut up." 

"I'm being completely sincere." 

"I know." 

"They were really different from my parents. You know, at the station, when everyone's families were kind of all together." 

"Okay, but your parents are like, in an entirely different class than the rest of ours. What are their jobs, being rich?" 

Sirius shrugs. "My mum does a lot of social functions. I don't know what my dad does." 

"If you don't know what your dad's job is, chances are that it's just being rich. In your situation that's  _definitely_  the case." 

By the time they leave the library and head back towards Gryffindor Tower to put their books away before heading back downstairs to dinner, the little clock on Madam Pince's desk is striking half five. The two of them talk about nothing in particular on their way up, but as they round the corner to reach the portrait hole, they quite literally run into Remus and James. 

"Oh," James says, eyes wide. "I'm sorry." 

"For what?" Sirius replies coolly. 

"...running into you," James replies after a beat. 

Remus tries to hide a laugh with a cough. "I'm sorry," he says after Sirius gives him a look. "The tension's just palpable." 

There's another few seconds of silence wherein Peter tries to communicate with Remus silently about what the  _fuck_ they're going to do about this, when Sirius speaks again. 

"Anyway, James, I've decided to forgive you." 

"For... running into you?" James asks, looking thoroughly confused. 

" _No_ , you idiot, for talking shit about my dad without considering anything other than your suspicions that he wants to join You-Know-Who," Sirius says exasperatedly. "But it's fine, I've decided to forgive you, I know... I know you had reason to be suspicious and I know you weren't trying to attack me." 

"Oh," James replies softly. "I would never attack you, Sirius. I'm sorry, I really didn't think you would be upset." James pauses. "I know you were, though, and it was because I was throwing accusations around," he adds, looking at Remus for confirmation, "and that it isn't okay to just suggest those kinds of things about people's families especially given our current political climate." 

"Wow," Peter says. "Did you memorize that?" 

"Yes, shut up, I didn't want to forget anything. But I came up with it myself. Remus helped me refine it, but I  _did_ come up with it on my own." 

Sirius smiles a little, finally. "I believe you." 

"Oh, good," James says, the words coming out in a gusty sigh. "I've been dying without you. We can't function as a broken group." 

“It’s been two days.” 

“So? It’s felt like a lifetime!” James seems to notice the books in Peter and Sirius’ arms. “Are you going up?” 

“Yeah, then to dinner,” Peter says. “Will you come with us?” 

“I don’t think James will be able to handle going without the two of you, so yes, of course,” Remus replies smoothly before James can say anything. “Jesus, you’re acting like we’re about to go on a date.” 

They start to walk again, giving the Fat Lady the password and climbing through the portrait hole, Peter hearing James behind him, replying to Remus indignantly, “Okay, how would  _you_ know what it’s like to go on a date? You’ve never been on one.” 

“Do you know that?” Remus answers him as they head up the stairs to the dorm so that Sirius and Peter can haphazardly throw their books on their beds before going downstairs for dinner. Peter supposes that they could’ve just taken their things with them, but he honestly thinks he’d rather die than lug his school bag up the millions of flights of stairs after eating dinner. “Can you be sure?” 

“Uh, yeah, I think you would’ve told us.” 

Sirius snorts. “You think Remus is forthcoming with us about  _anything_? James, do you know him at all?” 

“That’s true, we had to corner him to get him to tell us about his,” Peter pauses to wiggle his fingers in the way James does when he talks about Halloween, “ _big secret_.” 

“Ooh, what big secret?” Marlene asks as she passes them on the stairs. “Who did Remus kill?” 

“Your mum’s... pussy,” Remus says, the first half coming out quickly, like it was an automatic response, and the second half coming out with a grimace and an expression of instant regret. 

“Wow, worked hard on that one, did you?” Marlene replies, continuing down the stairs. “Let me know when you have a better reply, I'm dying to hear it.” 

It seems like in order to even continue up the stairs they have to wait for Marlene to be out of sight, purely for the purposes of insulting Remus for that embarrassment of a response before they keep going. 

“That was... horrendous,” James says, shaking his head. “I thought you were better than that, Remus.” 

“I know, I know.” 

“I’m ashamed to call you my friend after a line like that.” 

“Sirius, come on, do you think you would’ve done better?” 

“I don’t know but – you know what? I do. It would have at least been  _marginally_  better than that.” 

“Pete, back me up here,” Remus attempts. 

Peter shakes his head. “That was so bad. I've come to expect excellence from you, and this was just one disappointment after another.” 

“How was there more than one disappointment? I only said one thing!” 

“The fact that you tried to defend it is the worst part,” Peter replies. “Can we go now? Standing on the stairs is a terrible way to spend the evening.” 

“True, but insulting Remus while he’s trapped in a tiny space with no way to escape other than through repentance of his verbal sins is a wonderful one,” Sirius counters as they start moving again. 

They go to dinner and things are still a bit quieter than they’d normally be. James keeps bringing things up that happened over the past few days that he seems to think were unique experiences that only he had, even though for most of them, all the other boys were there as well, they just didn’t really speak about them. 

“Anyway, all I have to say is that I think Flitwick has to do something about that one singular eyebrow hair that’s about a foot longer than the rest of it. He has to have noticed by now, right?” James gasps as if he’s just realized something. “Maybe he’s growing it out on purpose.” 

Peter frowns. “Okay, but the real miracle is how it hasn’t fallen out yet. It isn’t as though eyebrow hairs are particularly solidly placed, the follicles are really small.” 

James takes a bite of his pasta. “What’s a follicle?” 

“Your complete lack of understanding of the way the human body works never ceases to astound me,” Remus says, laughing a little. “A follicle is basically the root of your hair. It's where it comes out from your head.” 

“Oh, interesting,” James says, nodding. “Is that –" 

“I think I need to ask someone about my dad,” Sirius interrupts. Peter turns to look at him more fully. 

Sirius has been quiet for most of the meal, even more so than the rest of them, and has pretty much kept his eyes fixed on his plate the entire time. Now, however, he’s looking up, a tense expression on his face. He looks as though he’s made a huge, potentially life-changing decision and has absolutely no idea how to go about it. In a way, Peter supposes that that’s true. 

“What?” Remus asks, breaking the silence following Sirius’ statement. 

Sirius looks at Remus very quickly then directs his attention to James. “Look, when I said I forgave you earlier I phrased it like that because I wanted to talk to you more about this and because I wanted to say that I'm sorry for jumping down your throat.” 

“Oh, it’s okay, Sirius, you don’t have to –" James begins, but Sirius hasn’t finished speaking. 

“And I also wanted to say I think you might be right and that this at the very least is something that could be a possibility and I wasn’t ready to deal with that and I think I need to talk to someone who might know more about this than I do,” Sirius says very quickly. 

“Oh,” James says again, more softly this time. 

“Who are you going to talk to?” Peter asks. 

Sirius huffs a gusty sigh. “My cousin Narcissa, I guess. She's really the only one around who I can ask, and I doubt very much that my father would answer my questions at all, much less in a letter if I were to write him.” He pauses. “He’s not a very... talkative man.” 

“We’re going home soon,” Remus says. “You could talk to him then.” 

Sirius shakes his head. “I don’t know, I just think. I just think I have to know what I'm going into, you know? Also I'm very scared to bring up the subject to him and it’ll be a lot easier after I get some practice with Narcissa.” 

“Do you want to practice with us?” 

“No, Pete, I’m okay.” 

“Sirius,” James says. “I just want to make sure I'm getting this straight.” 

“Yeah, what is it?” 

James pauses, looking down, his mouth slightly open as though he’s still formulating a thought. Then, suddenly, he looks up, pointing his fork across the table at Sirius. “So you think that, since I have the most valuable theories and have never once been wrong in the entire time that we’ve known each other, I might be right.” 

Sirius snorts. “Well, I hope you’re not, but you never know. You might continue on your surprisingly good track record of finding out people’s secrets.” 

“Ha! Nice. I mean, it wouldn’t be nice to discover that your father has questionable political beliefs, but hey, I'd be doing great. I'd be three for three! I'm coming for you next, Pete!” 

“Ew,” Peter replies, throwing a balled-up napkin across the table. “Calm down. The thrill you get out of exposing someone’s secrets isn’t decent.” 

“What can I say? I'm indecent, baby.” 

“Well, that’s not news, we’ve seen you naked more times than I at least would ever have cared to,” Remus says. James shoves him. 

They spend the rest of dinner and the ensuing evening talking about how Sirius is going to approach Narcissa and ask her to explain the family politics, how James thinks he might have broken his toe earlier today when he tripped on one of the staircases but how he won’t go to the hospital wing because  _it’s embarrassing how often I have to be there_ , how he shouldn’t be embarrassed because no one goes there more than Remus, how Peter suddenly remembers that  _shit_ , they have an exam tomorrow morning, and they need to get to bed before it’s too late and they won’t get enough sleep. 

They don’t get enough sleep. They stay up far into the night, exchanging more theories about the people at their school and worrying over small things and trying to figure out how they’re going to go two full months without seeing each other after they go home. It's eventually decided that everyone’s going to write home and try to convince their parents to let the others come over for a week or so. By the time they settle down into their familiar, comfortable dynamic again, the turbulent events of the past argument long forgotten, they’re falling asleep far too late at night, but Peter thinks that despite the amount of stress that they’re going to have in the morning when they’re all tired and rushing to make it to their Herbology exam on time, he wouldn’t change a minute of it. 


	20. in which sirius begins to ask questions as the school year ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!!! thank you so much to everyone who's been sticking with this and reading it as we've gone along. we've come to the last chapter of cmaf!! next week i will start posting third year (tales of a walk), and we will continue our story from there!!
> 
> i really appreciate everything you guys have done for me, with the comments and the kudos and the endless support. for this chapter, i want to give a special shoutout to someone who has been very present lately, commenting on basically every chapter (yes, i have been getting all those emails): allmyforestexpertise!! it's really nice to see how excited you were about everything i wrote, it was like reading a live tweeting thread about your experience.
> 
> to everyone else who has been my consistent supporter, i am so so grateful to you. i love you all.
> 
> special thank you to jamie, lex, sachi and chloe for being my ride or dies. i love u dumb losers.
> 
> next week we go into year 3!!! stay tuned!!!!!
> 
> twitter - gryfffsirius  
> instagram - emmakmarie  
> tumblr - siriusorioff

“Narcissa?” 

Narcissa turns around at Sirius’ voice, tearing her eyes away from Lucius Malfoy and focusing on her cousin heading towards her from down the hall. “Oh! Sirius,” she says in surprise, tilting her head a little. “Are you okay?” 

“Uh,” Sirius replies, reaching her. He is suddenly very aware of how tall and how irritated Lucius Malfoy looks, leaning against the wall next to his older cousin. “Not really. Can I talk to you?” 

“Oh, um, of course. Lucius, you don’t mind, do you?” 

“No, not at all,” Malfoy replies, looking as though he feels the complete opposite. “It’s a family thing, clearly.” 

Narcissa gives Malfoy a winning smile and steps away towards Sirius, the two of them heading a little bit away from people so that no one can hear their conversation. “What’s wrong, do you need something?” Narcissa asks, leading the way out into the courtyard and tucking her white-blonde hair behind her ear as she walks. “You don’t really come and say hi to me when we’re at school.” 

“I know,” Sirius says softly. Now that it’s come down to it, now that he’s actually going to ask Narcissa about their family, his mouth feels like it’s been filled with marbles. He doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t normally need things.” 

“Did something go wrong with your exams? Was someone mean to you? What do you need?” she asks, sounding genuinely concerned. 

For a fleeting moment, Sirius is afraid that all of the thoughts running through his head are going to just spill out of his mouth, but instead he just says, “No, it’s a family thing. You're the only person who I can ask.” 

“Okay,” Narcissa says slowly. “Do you have a question?” 

“Um, yeah, I - I have to tell you about something I heard my dad talking about last Christmas and then I have to ask you what you think that means.” 

Narcissa's eyes noticeably widen and she places a hand on her chest, right at the base of her neck. “Is Uncle Orion having an affair? Because I  _swear,_  I don’t understand how anyone could step out on a woman like your mother, she’s incredible.” 

“No, no, that’s not what I heard,” Sirius says hastily. “He’s not. At least, not as far as I know. I don’t think he ever would.” 

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Narcissa sighs. “What did you hear, then? Was it at the gala? I know he was having a business discussion with some people, my father was in there.” 

“Yeah, it was,” Sirius says. He pauses. He can’t quite figure out how to phrase it. Then, suddenly, as though he can’t stop himself, he blurts, “Professor Bratum from last year’s Defense class was there, and he was trying to get my – my dad to support You-Know-Who, and he said he  _agreed_  with You-Know-Who's beliefs but not his methods and –" 

“Okay, shh,” Narcissa says quickly, her voice dropping down to a whisper. “I understand. I know that’s a lot. I wish you had come to me sooner. But you can’t say that sort of thing, even asking me about it, at that volume, alright? We don’t want people to get the wrong idea.” 

“Okay,” Sirius agrees, eyes wide. 

Narcissa looks at him with something in her eyes that Sirius can’t quite figure out. He thinks it might be a bit of compassion mixed with something else. 

“Come on,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s take a walk.” 

She guides him out of the courtyard and out onto the open part of the grounds, far from everyone else that might possibly be listening. That’s a bit difficult in itself, considering exams are over and everyone’s just spread out onto the grounds, doing nothing but somehow managing to get in the way of Sirius having a conversation with his older cousin. They pass his friends, sitting under the tree: James standing facing the tree, talking animatedly and waving his hands around a lot; Peter lying on his back with his camera over his face, taking pictures of the leaves with his feet resting against the trunk; Remus pretending like he’s listening to what James is saying but catching Sirius’ eye as he passes, his brow furrowing in a concerned expression, eyes following his path towards a less populated section of the grounds, two steps behind Narcissa. 

Sirius wants to tell them that he’s okay. He hears James saying faintly Remus, are you even listening to me and sees Remus brushing him off, not taking his eyes off of Sirius. 

Sirius doesn’t know how to tell them that he can feel his heart beating a violent staccato in every single one of his veins, that the storm of anxiety roiling below his diaphragm is making its way up his throat and he feels like every breath coming in and out of him is nothing but shudders, that he’s so scared of what Narcissa might tell him about their family that he wants them to never reach wherever she deems a good location to talk about it. 

He doesn’t know how to tell them this, so he just sort of makes a face at them that’s something between a half-smile and a grimace, and Remus makes the same sort of face back at him. It feels like an acknowledgment, an understanding. 

They keep walking for a bit, and eventually Narcissa stops at the little half wall close-ish to the Whomping Willow, where Sirius had sat with James and Peter during one of the first times that Remus had disappeared. She sits, waiting for Sirius to take a seat next to her, with that same expression in her eyes that he still can’t quite completely identify. 

“Okay, you made me walk all the way out here, it must be a big secret you’re keeping from me,” Sirius jokes, sitting down. 

Narcissa laughs lightly, but there isn’t any humor behind it. Sirius thinks it’s just a way to defuse the tension. “No, not really, I just didn’t want anyone listening in.” 

“I see.” 

“Look, Sirius…” Narcissa begins, looking down at her hands in her lap, the fingers twisted together in what Sirius can only assume is a reaction to her trying to figure out how to handle this. “I – okay, it’s not really that complicated.” 

“Why not?” 

“Let me try to figure out how to explain,” Narcissa says, sighing and looking off to the side at the Whomping Willow for a moment before continuing. “So. The best way to start is, I think, based off of what you heard. Your father, he – he wasn’t lying. I know that thought must have crossed your mind, but that’s not what was happening.” 

Sirius feels a cold, tingling stone of dread drop low in his torso and sit there, closing up his body from the inside out. “Oh.” 

“Here’s the thing. Our family has always been a head of the wizarding community. We’ve been setting an example for everyone for hundreds of years, and we’ll keep doing that for hundreds more. That’s why it’s so important for all of us to make respectable matches and have good families and associate with the best sort of people in order to make sure that we continue the line without sullying it.” 

Narcissa sounds like she’s quoting a book that some long-dead Black family ancestor wrote about why they should only speak to people from certain families. Sirius isn’t stupid – he knows that’s how his family feels. He knows that’s why they only see the same people over and over again, that’s why all the parties are exactly the same, that’s why the conversations are so fucking dry. At Christmas, he had to mingle for a little longer than he’s ever had to before, his mother showing him off to everyone who’d breathed around him, and fuck, Sirius thinks he’s never been so bored in his life. It isn’t like he’s particularly surprised to hear this doctrine coming from Narcissa. He saw how she was looking at Lucius Malfoy. It’s just… he can’t pretend that he’s not disappointed by it. 

“You mean only other purebloods,” Sirius says, instead of voicing everything he’s thinking about. 

“Well, yes, but there are more advantageous connections with certain families than with others. You know our circles,” Narcissa replies easily. “In any case, we’re meant to be an example for everyone else.” 

“We aren’t royalty,” Sirius says, frowning. “It isn’t like we’re convincing the people that the monarchy needs to remain in place so that they have a higher ideal to strive for or whatever they’d say right before a revolution.” 

“No, you’re right, we aren’t, but we might as well be.” 

Sirius is quiet for a moment. Then, “What does this have to do with politics?” 

“Oh, everything,” Narcissa says, and Sirius notices her get more animated at the introduction of this new subject, as though this is something she’s really passionate about. “You know what I was saying before about us needing to be an example? What your father was saying about agreeing with the Dark Lord was that as a head of the community, we need to remain largely publically unaffected, because since our parents have such a large presence in the Ministry, if they’re shown to have strong opinions one way or another, people who don’t agree will say that we’re trying to accomplish things for our own purposes. And our fathers both have seats on the Wizengamot, it isn’t as though we don’t have influence in wizarding law. So that’s why we have to remain pretty impartial. But that doesn’t mean they don’t share their opinions on a lower scale.” 

Sirius doesn’t like the way Narcissa called You-Know-Who the Dark Lord. He knows people call him that, but usually only people who have some level of respect for him. Sirius doesn’t want Narcissa to have respect for him. 

“So…” he says slowly. “Is that why my dad said that he agrees with the principles but not the methods?” 

“Yes, he meant that he isn’t about to go join the Dark Lord’s followers, but he would support a political campaign because he thinks the reasoning behind the Dark Lord’s actions is sound,” she explains. Sirius crosses his arms and doesn’t say anything. Narcissa looks at him closely. “What?” 

“Okay, I mean, I guess I just don’t understand,” Sirius says quickly before Narcissa can start another politically based speech. “As far as I’ve learned, You-Know-Who seems to have something against anyone who’s not a pureblood. Like, I’ve heard that he doesn’t think anyone who isn’t should even be allowed a wand because he thinks they’re less than us. And I think… I think he also hates anyone who’s magical but not human? Like magical creatures, and I don’t know, people who are just sort of in between. You know, like… werewolves and shit.” 

“Yes?” Narcissa says, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. 

“I just – I don’t,” Sirius fumbles, tripping over his words. “I don’t think that’s okay.” 

“That’s fine,” Narcissa says quickly. “Sometimes the way the world works is a little harder to process than we’re prepared for. 

Sirius was expecting Narcissa to blow up at him, considering how invested she seems to be about this. But he isn’t exactly surprised when she doesn’t; she’s never been the most fired up of her sisters and there’s something about how she’s saying all this that makes Sirius think she might just be emulating Bellatrix and all of her explosive passion for everything. He remembers how last Christmas Andromeda had said something about Bella talking to people who weren’t ‘very nice’. He wonders now if they’d been the same sort of people that Narcissa has been telling him that his family is. He wonders if Andromeda would agree with him. He wonders if everyone he’s grown up with is like this. He wonders if everyone else has always known, before this, and he’s just been too stupid to realize that the environment he’s spent his whole life in isn’t one he knew he didn’t agree with. 

He doesn’t speak for another moment. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“You know,” Narcissa is saying, “I think you might be having a harder time with this because of those friends you have.” 

Sirius looks up sharply at that. “There’s nothing wrong with my friends.” 

“No, I’m sure they’re perfectly nice boys, but you have to admit, Sirius, you aren’t exactly keeping the best company with them. That James Potter seems to be from a nice, respectable family, even though they’re new money, but the other two, what are their names? Lupin and Pettigrew? I don’t know, Sirius. I just think this wouldn’t be an issue if you’d been Sorted into Slytherin. You’d be with the right crowd, but… Gryffindor is something else.” 

Sirius can feel himself emotionally digging his heels in, and he fucking wishes he could manage to have a more open discussion now, but he hates hearing people saying things about his friends. He stares at his knees and tries to stop his mouth from curling into a sour little scowl. 

It’s at this moment that he’s able to figure out exactly what Narcissa’s expression had been made up of. He’d been able to identify the compassion from the beginning, but it’s when she starts telling him that his friends are inherently less than him because of their blood statuses and their economic backgrounds that he figures out that the other emotion is pity. 

He stands up very suddenly. Narcissa looks surprised. 

“Sirius?” 

“You know what, thanks for the explanation, Narcissa, I just –” Sirius shakes his head, trying to figure out a way to articulate what it is that he’s feeling without telling her more about how he thinks she’s completely wrong. “I have to go.” 

“Okay,” she says slowly. “I’m always around if you want to talk about it more.” 

“I know,” Sirius rushes out, before all but running back to the tree where his friends are still sitting. 

“Oh, hi,” Peter says when Sirius skids to a halt on the grass next to them. They’ve all shifted in positions but are still there, and Sirius knows that they’ve been waiting for him. He knows in his heart that they left a spot open in their little circle for him, that they care about what happened to him, that he doesn’t think they’ll ever leave him. 

From the way Narcissa had been describing his friends, Sirius isn’t sure his family would do the same. 

“What happened?” Remus asks, kicking James lightly, who’s fallen asleep. “Are you okay?” 

Sirius sits down heavily. “James was right.” 

James opens his eyes and raises his arms in the air in a triumphant gesture. “Three for three!” 

Sirius laughs lightly, leaning back against the tree trunk next to Remus. The things that Narcissa had told him earlier left him shaken, but Sirius feels safe with his friends, sitting together in one of the places on the grounds that feels like theirs. 

“What did she say?” Remus asks. Sirius proceeds to explain everything Narcissa said to him as concisely as possible, which is hard considering he has to cut through the political bullshit to the meat of her words, which had essentially told him that his parents are eventually going to have an issue with the way he’s been going through his life. 

There’s a moment of pause. “What are you going to do?” Peter asks softly, picking at a blade of grass. 

Sirius shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. I don’t know what there is to say to my parents. It isn’t like they’re doing anything or making me stop being friends with you or anything.” 

“Yeah, but they tried to get you to switch Houses.” 

“Okay, sure, Pete, but I think that was just because of tradition, not because of, like, trying to get Sirius to join the You-Know-Who Youth,” Remus reasons. “What is he gonna do, campaign to get them to change their political beliefs when they’re supportive of shit like that? That’s dangerous.” 

“They wouldn’t hurt me or anything,” Sirius says. “I don’t know. Should I ask my mum?” 

James sits up. “They like me. When I come over this summer we could try and do some investigation.” 

“James, they’ve met you once.” 

“Yeah, and they liked me. Tremendously.” 

“Well, I’d volunteer to come as well, but we just found out that your parents don’t like me or Remus, so,” Peter shrugs, “I don’t think that would be the best choice.” 

“We could just show up, what are they gonna do, make us leave?” Remus suggests. “I think their posh etiquette wouldn’t allow that.” 

“Believe me, my mother would let you stay the entire time, but she’d be furious about it,” Sirius replies. “Just from knowing how she gets when people sneak around behind her back.” 

“Okay, just one thing’s for sure, we aren’t going the whole summer without seeing each other again, that was bullshit last year,” James says. “We can just rotate houses.” 

Sirius snorts. “Alright, James. Our parents will be completely on board with that, I’m positive.” 

“Yeah, of course they will, why wouldn’t they?” 

They stay under the tree for the rest of the afternoon, talking about nothing in particular as the early summer breeze ruffles through their hair and brings with it the warmth settling into Sirius’ body that he gets when he feels content with his friends. The turbulence of this afternoon feels slightly removed now that it’s just the four of them together, and despite his fears about what he might find out if he looks further into what he’s learned about his family, Sirius thinks that if he has his friends with him, it might end up being okay. 


End file.
